The Long Way Home
by Rainey13
Summary: Season 3 left us with a BIG problem - how to reunite Peter and Neal. Neal's in paradise, but he wants to be home. Peter's at home, but it's not the same without Neal. There are a lot of hurdles to be cleared, but this is my take on it.
1. Paradise

**_A/N: OK, I don't like Philip Kramer. He broke the bromance, and I'm very upset with him. Fortunately, I can take it out on him in fan fiction :-) (And if, by chance, you're a huge Kramer fan... you've been warned!) This tale does roughly follow my story "Scramble" but it's not really necessary to have read that. Many thanks to Winterstar-Donna for her beta work - all remaining mistakes are mine._**

* * *

It was the gentle gust that woke him, blowing in through the open window, setting the gauzy curtains fluttering. The breeze caressed his face, his bare shoulder, like a loving hand.

Neal opened his eyes, allowing himself a small smile as he looked out at the pre-dawn sky, the horizon just beginning to glow with the rising sun. It made the lagoon shimmer, adding golden highlights to the clear turquoise water.

He tipped his head down and to the left, his smile broadening as he looked at the dark hair spread over his chest. Luna was still sound asleep, her head on his shoulder, one arm draped lightly over his stomach. Peering past the hair, he could see a satisfied smile on her face as she slept.

After the night they'd shared, he should probably still be asleep too. Considering that he was, for all practical purposes, a man of leisure – with half of the U-boat treasure at their disposal, he and Mozzie certainly didn't need to be working for a living – maybe he should have staff so he could just spend his days in bed…

_Yeah, right._

He brushed a gentle kiss on the crown of Luna's head and then, ever so carefully, he extracted his arm from under her head. She stirred at one point, mumbled something, but then turned and let sleep claim her again.

That was good, since she actually did work for a living.

He slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, did his morning business, and then moved to the dressing area just outside the huge walk-in closet. A quick check confirmed that his swim trunks were still damp from the previous day – even though he was about to go back in the water, he really cringed at the idea of putting wet clothes back on. So he opted for the Speedo, something really more suited to serious lap swimming in a pool than a dip in the ocean. Still, it had been a gift from Luna, and maybe she'd come out to join him before he finished his swim.

Grabbing a towel, Neal let himself out of the bungalow. He had to admit, for a prison, Ambergris Caye had its perks. Stepping out his front door onto a white sand beach, mere yards from the Caribbean, was one of the best.

_And really, he needed to stop thinking of this as a prison – even if it wasn't where he wanted to be. After all, he could be in Washington, D.C., tethered for all eternity to the Art Crimes division of the FBI…_

Ambergris was definitely preferable. If he couldn't have New York, he'd take this.

He dropped his towel on one of the Adirondack loungers set into the sand and headed for the water. Along the way he picked up a couple of starfish and a tiny crab, its legs waving weakly in the air – sea creatures brought up by the high tide overnight. He set them gently into the water at the lagoon's edge and then waded in.

The warm salt water welcomed him, wrapping around his legs, his waist. When it reached his chest he stretched out and started to swim. Slowly at first, taking his time to warm up, he headed out into the sea.

There was a dive marker out over the reef and that was his destination. He and Mozzie had clocked it from the boat one time, and he knew it was just under a mile from the beach. The two-mile roundtrip was just about right in the morning. Sometimes he even tarried at the marker, free-diving beneath the surface to marvel at the life the ocean supported. This was just the edge of the reef – the really serious divers went out farther – but the variety of colorful fish and coral was still very impressive even this close to his front door.

He put his head down, lengthening his strokes, digging deep for a little more speed. All of the late nights at the gym back in New York, swimming lap after lap, paid off and he cut through the gentle swells as easily as he had once walked the streets of the City.

_And oh, how he missed that city, and the people he had left behind…_

Neal reached the dive marker and paused, one hand on the buoy. He wished he could stop thinking about New York, but that had proven to be an impossible task. He'd replayed the sequence of events so many times – from the sad, resigned look on Peter's face the last time he'd seen his friend, to his flight to avoid the fate Kramer had in mind for him. The quick hop to Hartford, to get out of the metro area, and away from the most likely spots for the FBI and marshals to mobilize agents. Then the flight to Miami, where he'd been convinced, first, that he'd be dragged off the plane in cuffs before they could even take off, and then that they'd be met by agents in Florida. But that hadn't happened, and they had made it onto a charter flight to Grand Cayman that night. Mozzie had taken care of liquidating some assets while Neal laid low – just in case their path had been tracked. There was no sign of that after a few days, however, so they had made one more trip to Belize, and then to the beautiful Ambergris Caye just off the coast.

So now he was living in a tropical paradise, with access to more wealth than anyone could reasonably spend in three lifetimes – and all he wanted was to go _home_.

The one thing he couldn't have.

The sun had risen all the way over the horizon now, and the warmth on his back reminded him – again – that he should focus on the present, not the past. If nothing else, Mozzie would insist that the longer he stayed in one place in the water, the greater his chances of becoming a tasty morsel for the man-eating great white sharks that Moz was sure were lurking just under the surface for that sole purpose.

Neal had tried pointing out that Belize attracted snorkelers and divers from around the world, drawn by the second-largest barrier reef in the world – and that there were no known instances of any of them being gobbled. The common reef sharks in the area were rarely aggressive in the absence of a feeding frenzy, and that was usually easy to avoid. That, of course, had not convinced Mozzie…

No, it hadn't convinced _Bob._ They were Vic and Bob now. _Neal Caffrey_ and _Mozzie_ had been left behind in New York.

Except Neal still felt like _Neal_ and not like Vic…

_And how funny that Mozzie had taken a liking to the name Bob, crafting a new ID with that name even after Neal had given up the first alias to Peter when Elizabeth was kidnapped._

He pushed off and began the swim back to shore, his strokes steady and even. About halfway there he lifted his head, smiling as he saw Luna wave from the beach. He waved back, and then put his head down again and finished his swim.

His smile grew as he reached shallow water and put his feet down in the sand. Luna was walking toward him, clad in a white bikini bottom – and nothing else. _Ah, the advantages of a private beach…_

He waded out, taking the towel she handed him and drying off a bit before wrapping it around both of them and pulling her close. "Good morning," he whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

Her lips met his, and it was a few moments before they came up for breath. "Good morning," she returned. "How was your swim?"

"Excellent. The water's great. Want to go in?"

"Ah, I would, but Rafe is on the mainland this morning. I need to get to work and take care of deliveries."

Neal let his facial expression turn into a pout, but just for a moment – the day was too beautiful to dwell on small things like that. "Early lunch?" he asked.

Her fingers twined in his hair, pulling him close. "Rafe should be back. We could make it a _long_ lunch."

"Oh, so tempting. But I can't today. Bob has a diving charter to the Blue Hole, and I agreed to guide them down."

It was Luna's turn to pout. "Bob should learn to dive so he can do his own guiding."

"I have delicate eardrums."

Neal and Luna turned as Mozzie – _Bob_ – walked toward them. The first few times that Luna had calmly faced company topless, Neal had been a little surprised. Now, though, it simply seemed a natural part of laid-back island life.

And at least _Bob_ was fairly good at knocking when they were ensconced behind closed bungalow doors.

Luna gave a deep, theatrical sigh. "Then I will have to content myself with simply an early lunch."

Neal smiled and leaned in for another kiss. "I'll make it up to you later."

The finger that Luna trailed down over his chest and stomach made him shiver – and wish that she didn't have to leave.

"Will you be in the square today?"

"That's my plan for the morning."

Luna smiled and turned back toward the bungalow. "I will see you there then."

Neal watched until she went inside and then turned to Mozzie. "Delicate eardrums?"

Mozzie just shrugged. "It works out well. I provide the brains of the outfit, you do the physical work."

"Right."

"I see you evaded the great white predator for another swim."

"Nary a bite."

"Nice girl," Mozzie said.

"Girl?" Neal had never asked Luna how old she was; he was occasionally impulsive, but rarely outright stupid. And Luna was one of those women who might have anywhere from her late twenties to maybe forty or so. Best guess though was that she was probably a couple of years older than he was.

"Just a phrase. I do admit to being a little surprised that you've started a relationship so soon."

"Luna's never asked for, or given, a promise beyond today," Neal pointed out. _In fact, he had the distinct feeling that she'd understand if he was simply gone tomorrow… _ "And knowing the owner of a local bar doesn't hurt," he added.

There was the sound of a motor starting up, and both men turned, watching as Luna rode off on her bright yellow scooter, waving as she disappeared around a curve in the drive.

"She has started stocking a higher quality of wine," Mozzie conceded.

"Not to mention Italian roast coffee," Neal added. "Speaking of… I'm going to go make some coffee. Want a cup?"

"I could be convinced."

They went inside and Neal moved into the small kitchen while Mozzie settled into one of the padded wicker chairs in the living room at the back of the house. The kitchen, like the bedroom, overlooked the lagoon and he found himself watching the water as he waited for the water to heat.

It really was a beautiful place, and a great set-up. They had two bungalows, separated by a stand of palm trees and bamboo. Between them, a floating dock extended out into the azure waters. An ultra-fast cigarette boat was moored on one side and a small runabout on the other. Both were kept fueled and ready to go at all times.

In town, Mozart Charters had a dockside office, a seaplane, and a dive boat. In just a little over a month the place had built up a decent level of business.

Nearby, the Blue Oasis Cantina offered an inviting haven for a drink or some music – maybe some company. That's where they had met Luna, and developed a bit of a mutual referral relationship.

And a more personal relationship as well, at least for Neal and Luna.

Luna also liked to refer tourists out to the surrounding Market Square, where an artist frequently set up shop to do sketches.

Neal poured two cups of coffee and moved out into the other room, handing one off to Mozzie. "Any word from Sally?"

"I expect news soon, possibly even tonight. She said she was very close to breaking the codes."

"And she's sure the FBI won't notice, right?"

"She's very good at what she does, Neal."

Mozzie's somewhat-patronizing tone wasn't lost on Neal, and he sighed. "I know. It's just, this is really important."

Mozzie sipped his coffee slowly before saying anything else. "Neal, I know I've asked this before, but are you sure you want to do this?"

Neal sank into a chair, setting his coffee on the side table. "I have to, Moz. I need to know why Kramer wanted to rip everything away from me. And, I need to know if they're going after Peter."

"I imagine you'd get on your white horse and ride back into the teeth of the enemy if they were."

Neal just picked up his coffee and sipped; it was answer enough.

Mozzie just shook his head and sighed. "Sally will find a way to get you into the records, if not tonight, then soon. And she's also working on a way to set up secure communication with someone back home."

The cup hid the small smile that crossed Neal's face as he realized that Mozzie still referred to New York as 'home' too. "I appreciate it, Moz. And I guess Hector was able to get you everything you needed for your set-up here?" Where the extra space in Neal's bungalow had been converted into an artist's studio, Mozzie's had more electronic equipment than Neal had ever seen in one place.

"The NSA could take lessons on communication security from what I've been able to put together."

"That's reassuring. And he's still watching for unwanted visitors?"

"Hector has an amazing reach among the Belize underworld, not to mention with the local _gendarmes_. He has people watching every incoming flight for anyone who seems out of place."

"Always encouraging to find good help."

"Absolutely."

"So, how many people in the dive party this afternoon?"

"Three. And their dive history checks out."

"That's good. The Hole isn't a place for novices."

Mozzie gave an exaggerated shudder. "It's not a place for humans! But, people are willing to pay a lot of money to go there."

"Tropical capitalism at its finest."

"You're going to do your artist thing again?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go in and do some sketching. I'm having an early lunch with Luna, and then I'll meet you at the office."

"Excellent." Mozzie drained his cup and got to his feet. "I'll have the boat ready."


	2. Adjustments

Peter had seen them come in earlier, three dour-looking agents, followed by his erstwhile friend, Philip Kramer. They had come upstairs, walking past his office without a word, and gone directly to see Hughes.

They'd been in there for the better part of an hour…

He couldn't help but wonder what they wanted now. He'd been questioned, on an informal basis, multiple times. Accused of helping Neal to escape – even though he had both the members of the probation board, as well as Kramer himself, as witnesses that he had been at the hearing location.

Various threats had been made about sending his career on a downward spiral, but so far, at least, they had been empty of any real action. Kramer had gone over the reports he had called "pulp fiction" with a fine tooth comb, but suspicions didn't count as actionable evidence. And, to paraphrase what he had said to Neal during the Manhattan Prep case, he had told the truth – just maybe with a few details left out.

Jones had come to him and admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that he had recommended against Neal's release at the hearing. Diana had told the board she had reservations about Neal being ready to stay on the high ground without the anklet and what that represented; another two years would help. Peter responded by taking them both out to a noisy neighborhood bar where, from the relative privacy of a rear booth – and with no badges – he had confided the reason for Neal's flight.

That was all it took. Jones and Diana had, to his everlasting appreciation, remained staunchly loyal. Neither of them knew _everything_ that he might know about Neal – but they backed up the reports as accurate _to the best of their knowledge._

If he survived all of this with his position intact, he was definitely recommending both of them for promotion.

He saw the visitors file past his office again, heading toward the conference room. He was even aware of someone – _Kramer_ – pausing in his doorway. But Peter kept his head down, as if really concentrating on the report in front of him.

_Good thing no one stopped in for a recap, because he honestly couldn't have said what case the file was even from._

He finally looked up when there was a knock on the door and Reese Hughes stepped in. "What do they want now?"

"Oh, same as always. Where's Caffrey."

"They should get a new line of questions."

Hughes looked out at the conference room door, then stepped in a little farther. "Peter, _have_ you heard from Caffrey?"

"I have not talked to Neal since just after he finished his statement to the probation board."

_Of course, he might have heard, through a secret source June refused to disclose, that the 'package' had arrived safely. Exactly __where__ it had arrived, he had no idea…_

Hughes just nodded wearily. "Well, they want to talk to you. Again."

Peter slammed the file closed; it wasn't very satisfying. But throwing something heavy enough to _be_ satisfying probably wouldn't be a very good idea. "Of course they do," he growled, pushing past Hughes.

He stepped into the conference room, letting his gaze go right past Kramer, who was closest to the door. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over the feeling of betrayal he felt at his former mentor's actions.

_Well, maybe Kramer wasn't the only one who held back a few tricks…_

He recognized two of the other agents – Lloyd Howell and Robin Grant, both OPR. Both total assholes, in his totally unbiased, professional opinion. The other agent was standing a bit away from them, and wasn't familiar. From the other man's closed stance – arms crossed, a scowl on his face – Peter wasn't sure he even wanted to know who the man was.

"Agent Burke. Good to see you again."

That was Grant – she tried to play at being friendly. "I'm afraid I can't say the same, Agent Grant. And I really don't understand why we're doing this again. You've already been through all of the case files. And I have told you everything I can about Neal."

"Have you, Pete?" Kramer stepped in closer, right into Peter's line of sight. "Have you really told us everything?"

Peter felt his jaw muscles contracting, and he fought to keep his temper in check; losing it would only cause him trouble. _And he almost wished Kramer had kept calling him 'Petey' – he hated 'Pete' almost as much._ "I have not spoken to Neal since before my testimony to the probation board."

"So that's when you told him to run?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Neal was perfectly relaxed, and accepting of whichever way the board might decide. And, as a matter of fact, I told the board he should be free."

"Not what you told me just the day before. Or was that someone else who told me Caffrey should serve out the remainder of his sentence on the anklet?"

"I changed my mind."

"Because you knew he was going to run anyway?"

"Neal had no reason to run – until you gave him one."

"Which you shared with him?"

"I didn't even know you _had_ another plan until just before I testified."

"Then how did he know?"

Kramer had gotten closer, almost in his face. And Peter finally fixed the man with his coldest stare. "As I've told you, my guess is that he saw you and your marshal friends on the steps outside the building. Neal's a pretty bright guy. I imagine he put two and two together."

The two men stood there, glaring, nose to nose, until Grant finally cleared her throat. "I don't think this is getting us anywhere."

"No, it's not," Peter agreed – but he didn't look at her until Kramer broke eye contact first. "Now, do you have any _new_ questions, or are you just wasting my time again?"

"Actually, we do have some new questions." Howell picked up the remote, activating the projector.

Peter turned – finding a grainy shot of him sitting in a café booth with June and Sara. "Oh, now you're _following_ me?" _He wasn't surprised – he'd seen their clumsy attempts to blend in – but he didn't have to try very hard to put indignation in his voice._

Howell ignored the question. "Both Ms. Ellis and Mrs. Ellington are friends of Caffrey's. Suppose you tell us what you were talking about."

"Suppose you tell me why it's any of your business," Peter shot back.

"It's our business because we have a fugitive on the loose." Howell clicked the remote, and a closer shot of the threesome appeared on the screen. "Now, were you talking about Caffrey?"

"Neal might have been mentioned."

"If you were discussing his whereabouts…"

Peter rounded on Grant, fixing her with the same glare Kramer had just received. "Sara Ellis and June Ellington were – _are_ – friends of Neal's. They care about him. They miss him. You people have already questioned them, and you know they didn't help him." He paused, taking a deep breath. "We all miss Neal. That's what we talked about."

"You're sure that's all."

That was the new man, the one he didn't recognize, and Peter turned toward him. "And who are you?"

"Special Agent Laz Alphonse. Fugitive Retrieval."

Peter shook his head slowly. "Fugitive Retrieval. Seriously? Neal Caffrey is a non-violent white collar offender, who had spent the last two years putting his life on the line helping the Bureau close cases. He was maybe an hour away from being freed after his hearing. And you're going to waste fugitive retrieval resources on him instead of, oh, say, the bank robbery gang that just pulled their fourth job and left two people dead? Or maybe the kidnappers who just got away with a ten million dollar ransom – after leaving the bank president's family dead."

Alphonse shrugged. "Still a fugitive. And I just go where the bosses send me."

_The bosses…_ Peter turned on Kramer. "Why? For the life of me, Phil, I don't understand why you're so obsessed with Neal. What did he ever do to you?"

"It's not what he's done, Pete – it's what he _can_ do. I told you, Caffrey's going to work for me, in D.C. And with his latest run now, I won't have any trouble making it permanent."

"Well, you'll have to find him first," Peter all but hissed. "And with the head start he has, my money's on Neal."

"You caught him, twice," Kramer pointed out.

"I've been told to stay away from the case," Peter pointed out.

Kramer's smirk almost earned him a punch in the nose. "And, of course, you're following those orders."

"I am, actually." Peter even managed to smile. "I have plenty of white collar crime to worry about."

"It won't sit well if it turns out you know something about where Caffrey is," Alphonse warned.

"It doesn't sit well now that you keep making all of these accusations without proof of anything," Peter countered.

"Our investigation is ongoing," Grant said.

Peter just waved that off. "Let me know when you have something worth my effort. Until then, stop wasting my time."

He stalked out of the room, and down the stairs. Then he kept right on going, through the bullpen to the elevators. Fortunately, a car had just arrived and Peter knew he was being just a tad rude as he pushed his way in past the people who were exiting.

Right now, he didn't care.

He stabbed the button for the parking garage level where he'd find his car and then leaned back against the rear wall, his thoughts racing.

_Fugitive Retrieval… Those guys didn't fool around. But even at the height of his former career, Neal hadn't warranted their attention. So why now…_

Kramer. Somehow it all came back to him. It had to. Who else would have the clout to call in the retrieval unit – and the motivation to do so.

_Which still begged the question of why…_

He stepped out into the parking garage and strode quickly toward his car. _'Why'_ would have to wait a bit. Right now he had people to talk to, warn…

* * *

Neal stopped next to the small booth that had become his 'office' in San Pedro. Even though Belize was mostly English-speaking, and had a long history of British influence, this section of town was very much Hispanic in nature. There was a bustling market square, with vendors selling fresh fruits and vegetables, handmade pottery and woven goods, and an assortment of touristy souvenirs.

Across the square, the Blue Oasis had its doors open, a colorful awning welcoming a few morning patrons. In the small alley just to the south he could see Luna talking to a delivery driver as a couple of workers offloaded boxes from a truck.

He parked the scooter behind the booth, smoothed back his hair, and plopped a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head. At first, Mozzie had been a little worried about Neal taking such a public position. But now, after nearly two months of sea water and sun his hair had naturally bleached to a lighter brown, and he had let it grow out. Gone, too, was the pomade that had kept his hair swept back into a professional sweep. Now, he just towel dried it after his shower and left it tousled. The scooter ride added a wind-swept touch. And the sophisticated scruff he affected in New York had transformed into a full-fledged beard. Add in the wide-brimmed straw hat he wore as protection from the tropical sun, and he didn't look much like the image he'd left behind in New York.

Mozzie preferred to travel by boat – the small runabout just the right size for tooling the few miles in the generally calm coastal waters. The first tropical storm might change that, but for the most part the extensive reef and the string of small islands kept the area fairly well protected.

He set up his easel, and a pad of sketching paper. A selection of pencils and charcoals came next, arranged _just so_ in order to have his primary tools closest at hand. Then he hung up some sample sketches – the two of Luna were among his favorites. Finally, he put out a couple of chairs for customers, and the stool he preferred to use.

The Caribbean was only a block or so to the east, with a small marina in sight from where he sat. The rising sun cast a golden glow over the tall masts on some of the boats, and that was where he directed his attention now. The sailboats would make an interesting real life study.

Most of the other vendors were already open; the produce stalls had probably already been open while he was taking his swim. A few people were wandering around the square, mostly locals so far. Some of the die-hard divers and fishing aficionados were undoubtedly already out on the water. The rest of the tourists – the ones looking for a more laid-back vacation experience – would start wandering out of their hotels and home rentals soon.

On the days when he sketched, he usually managed to get a dozen or so customers. It wasn't a lot of income; of course, he didn't really need the money, not with the treasure they had at hand. But it was enough that it kept locals from wondering what he did with his time. And leading dives for Mozart Charters helped with that too.

Besides, he needed to be doing _something._ And as long as his _something_ was legal and kept him occupied, he found it fairly easy to avoid looking for illicit ways to spend his time.

Somehow, he thought he owed that much to Peter.

The artwork had even paid off in other ways. He'd already taken a couple of commissions for some of the locals – the Blue Oasis had a mural on its front wall, courtesy of his hand. The dining room of the small hotel just across the square had a new tropical look, thanks to his work.

_Actual, original Neal Caffrey works – too bad he couldn't sign them as such…_

Since very few people in the world had ever seen a true, signed original work of his, there was little danger. But, he refrained.

A couple of other business owners had approached him about doing work after the upcoming high tourist season. He'd probably take it.

_Assuming he was still there…_

That was always the problem when one was on the run – one never knew when one might need to _run._

But for today he saw no danger, just the promise of a beautiful day. So he'd sketch this morning, hopefully get a few customers to help pass the time, and have lunch with Luna. Then he'd do the dive with Mozzie's customers – the Blue Hole was fascinating, and he always saw something new. Tonight there would be time for wine at the cantina, maybe some word from Sally, and hopefully a visit from Luna when she could get away.

_Paradise…_

It just wasn't _home_.


	3. Planning

It was almost funny, Peter mused, as he drove toward Battery Park. As an FBI agent, he frequently rued the invention of burner phones – they were nearly impossible to trace, by design.

But now, as an FBI agent trying to determine what smelled rotten in his world, he appreciated the anonymity as he made a quick call, and got a confirmation of a meeting.

As the photos confirmed, he, Sara, and June were all being observed, at least part of the time. With no actual evidence that any of them had helped Neal flee – or knew where he was – it was unlikely that any court would have issued a warrant to tap their phones.

_Then again, without knowing Kramer's end game, who knew what 'evidence' might have been manufactured…_

And, of course, phones could be bugged, as he had personal experience with. It was something to check when he got home.

_Too bad he didn't know where Mozzie had stashed all of his equipment when he'd originally cleared out all of his safe houses. He could use that Russian surplus bug detector right now._

He took a couple of quick turns, watching for any vehicles behind him. Fortunately, the view seemed clear.

_If he saw Neal again one day, he'd have to remember to thank him for the lesson on disabling the GPS tracking device. _

He pulled into a ramp near the southern tip of Manhattan, driving up a couple of extra levels, still watching for anyone behind him. But there was still no sign of a tail so he finally parked and hurried down the outside steps. Cutting through the park, he passed by the lines of people waiting to go to the Statue of Liberty. Beyond that was the port for the Staten Island Ferry.

Pushing through the doors, Peter paused for a moment just inside. It seemed a lifetime ago that they'd been here, chasing a hacker turned bank robber. Then, Neal had been by his side…

He shook his head, pushing that thought aside. Dwelling on the past did no good.

During the case, the crowds had been the enemy – a good place to hide one man. Now, the sheer number of people waiting for the ferry became his ally as he wound his way upstairs. He shed his suit coat as he went, draping it over his arm; just another businessman on his way home.

He saw her across the way, and saw the moment she noticed him. But they stayed separate, just keeping each other in sight and making their way toward the waiting ferry.

It wasn't until they were away from the dock and underway that they finally drifted toward each other.

"Sara."

"Hello, Peter."

"Thanks for meeting me."

"Well, you made it sound pretty important."

He sighed, nodded. "It is." He paused, looking out over the water. Even as annoyed as he was by the actions of 'his side,' it was still hard to complain about them to outsiders.

Hard, but not impossible.

"I know I'm being followed, at least part of the time. They have photos of the three of us at the café the other night."

Sara nodded, turning her face into the breeze. "I thought I'd seen someone outside my apartment a couple of times. But I haven't seen them anywhere else."

"I think it has to be semi-unofficial, at least. Other than June calling a cab for him, none of us helped Neal run."

_Well, if he was honest, Peter had to admit that he had stalled his testimony to the probation board as long as he could, to give Neal as much time as possible…_

"But I assume Kramer is still looking into his disappearance."

"He is. I had another meeting with him and OPR this morning."

"But he doesn't really have anything he can come after you for, does he?"

"Well, he can make life difficult for me, especially if he demands a full hearing. And losing a felon released in my custody isn't the best career move. But my record should protect me." _Especially thanks to the help Neal had provided to his conviction rate…_ "And the simple fact is that I did not speak to Neal."

"You just weren't surprised that he left, or disappointed."

Peter shook his head. "No. Whatever Kramer wants, it would be very bad for Neal. I'm sure of that."

"And you still have no idea why he was so insistent on taking Neal to DC?"

"Well, he _says_ it was to protect me. There's a lot more to it though."

"How do we find out?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "I still have a few angles to play. But there's something new."

"And somehow I don't think I'm going to like it."

"Probably not."

"Well, hit me with it."

"Kramer's got an agent from Fugitive Retrieval assigned to the hunt for Neal."

Sara drew in a deep breath and leaned against the railing. "They have a reputation for being rather ruthless going after their prey."

"Yes, they do."

They stood in silence for a long moment, just staring out at the approaching landing at Staten Island, before Sara finally spoke. "So, what do we do?"

"Do you have a safe way to get a message to June?"

She nodded. "Her housekeeper has been very helpful. What do you want to say?"

"If she can get a message out… say that the 'package' is being tracked."

"All right. Maybe if we knew…"

Peter shook his head, cutting her off. "No, we shouldn't know how she's contacting him – assuming that she still can."

"Plausible deniability."

"Exactly – and words to live by."

"I'm sure June knows what she's doing."

"Oh, I know she does."

"I suppose the three of us shouldn't meet again."

Peter answered that with a grin. "Actually, I think we should meet regularly."

Sara smiled. "Give the watchers something to watch."

"Classic misdirection."

"Neal would love it."

"Yeah, he would. One more thing." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. "Get a burner phone – actually, if you can, get someone else to buy it for you. Then call me on this number."

She took the paper, slipping it into the pocket of her blazer. "You think they might be tapping our phones too?"

"Probably not tapping, but possibly bugged. We should probably make sure to only use the phones where there's other ambient noise around, make it harder for directional mics to work."

"Maybe we both spent too much time around Mozzie."

Peter laughed – something not very common these days. "Quite possibly."

When Sara spoke again, her voice was low, almost hesitant. "Do you think they can find him?"

_Yes, that was the question…_

"Neal's good – damn good," Peter finally replied. "And Mozzie – I never did find his real name, and I tried. But Kramer is really determined on this. All it would take is one slip."

"Do you think you can find out what Kramer really wants?"

"I'm definitely going to try."

* * *

Neal pulled the scooter up under the overhang next to the bungalow and kicked the stand down. Then he stood up and stretched, looking out over the water. The moon had risen, nearly full now, and it made the sea sparkle as though a million diamonds had been scattered over the surface. The gentle surf lapped up onto the beach in a peaceful rhythm.

He paused, just taking in the calming surroundings. It had been a good day. He'd had four customers at his little art stand, just enough to fill his morning. Lunch with Luna – a delicate chicken and onion soup, fresh fish filets with lemon and garlic, and a lime tart – had been delicious; the company had been even better. The afternoon dive had gone well. The customers really had been experienced divers this time, so he didn't have to babysit quite so much and could take some time to appreciate the natural wonder of the Blue Hole himself. And just now he had come from the Blue Oasis after a couple glasses of wine and some good island music.

All in all, quite a successful and fulfilling day. He was debating topping it off with a late night swim as he walked toward the door…

And saw the planter.

It was a prompt he and Mozzie had worked out. Normally, he kept the planter, bursting now with copious red blooms, on the side nearest the kitchen. It was on the other side now, under the bedroom window – which meant that Moz needed to see him.

If it had been moved to the edge of the narrow porch, that would have been the sign to run.

He moved the planter back into place and went inside, dropping off the messenger bag that was pretty much his constant companion these days. In addition to the supplies that made it look like a legitimate work-related bag for an artist, there was also a hidden compartment with a passport and enough cash to get far away in a hurry.

Just in case.

Right now, the bag also contained a bottle of wine he'd picked up at the cantina. He took it out and walked back outside – one thing that hadn't changed was that he was still expected to provide the wine when he and Mozzie met.

The moon provided plenty of illumination as Neal made his way along the narrow path through the bamboo that separated the two bungalows. As he neared the other house, though, he could hear voices, so he slipped silently up underneath one of the windows.

Voices, yes, but no urgency or concern…

He finally knocked on the door, entering at Mozzie's invitation.

The second bungalow was the mirror opposite of his. The front room, facing the water was the living room and common area. Or, in Mozzie's case, the control center. There were several computers, large monitors, an assortment of radio equipment – and quite a few electronic devices that Neal quite honestly couldn't identify.

_Who would have guessed that Belize had a booming Russian surplus supply trade…_

He closed the door, smiling as he looked at one of the monitors – the one holding Mozzie's attention. "Hi, Sally," he said, walking into range of the webcam.

"Hello, Neal. It looks like island life agrees with you too."

"It has its perks."

Mozzie picked up a flash drive and held it out. "Sally was able to break the codes. This will get you inside the system."

Neal took the drive, twisting it in his fingers. "And he won't be able to trace the intrusion?"

The image of Sally's face broke into a sly smile. "He won't even know you're there. The program will automatically redirect the search history so it will look like you're a high-level bureaucrat researching payroll records."

"You've outdone yourself, Sally."

Her grin grew. "It was fun."

Neal answered with a smile of his own. "I'm sure it was. Mozzie worked out what we owe you?"

"Oh, we have an understanding."

_It was interesting that when Mozzie blushed, even the top of his head turned pink. And somehow, Neal managed not to laugh…_

"Well, I'll sign off for now," Mozzie cut in, rubbing a hand across his reddened head. "I'll send you the time and frequency for our next contact."

"I'll be looking forward to it, Pooh Bear."

Neal leaned a hip against the table, watching with amusement as Mozzie quickly terminated the video. "Pooh Bear?"

"Yeah, just a nickname. There was this thing with honey…"

Neal got to his feet, holding up a hand. "That's probably all I need to know." He walked over to the side table and picked up the corkscrew, starting to open the wine. "Sally's sure no one has found her?"

Mozzie's raised eyebrow pretty much summed up his answer. "No one finds the Vulture in the cyber world unless she wants to be found."

"Well, good thing she wants to find you then, Pooh." Neal poured wine into two glasses and handed one over to Mozzie. Then he held up the flash drive. "So this will get me past the Bureau firewall?"

"It will. And let you log in as anyone you choose – with no record to show you've ever been there."

"Brilliant."

"I assume you'll be starting with Kramer's ID."

Neal pulled up a chair next to one of the computers and set his wine glass down. "This all ties back to him somehow," he said as he inserted the flash. "So let's start at the top."

* * *

It was the following day when Sara strolled through the upscale market, making a show of studying the items on the shelves. If she actually _cooked_, this would probably be a truly marvelous place.

She preferred takeout menus, generally.

Still, she put a few items in her basket as she made her way toward the dairy section in the back. She picked up some milk, decided to try a fancy imported coffee creamer, added a tub of organic butter…

When she accidentally bumped a display of crackers and a few boxes went tumbling, the assistant manager was there immediately to help. Together they restacked the boxes…

And she slipped the note into his hand.

A few minutes later, Sara walked out of the store, two bags in hand after making her purchases. She flagged down a cab and went directly home.

Two hours later, the woman walked into the store, the trip prompted by a call that the household order was ready. They didn't really need anything, of course – but she'd worked for the Ellingtons long enough to know not to ask any questions.

In fact, she was paid well to _not_ ask questions.

It was a little strange though – they hadn't really had to go to these lengths for a number of years now. If she had to guess, this was probably related to the handsome young boarder who had left so abruptly. Of course, she wasn't paid to guess.

She picked up the grocery order, carefully tucking the receipt – and the slip of paper underneath it – into her pocket.

Helen went straight back to the home on Riverside Drive; that was always the key, to make the trip look routine. She handed the slip of paper, unread, off to her employer and went to put away the groceries they didn't need.

It was late, and June knew better than to trust the phone. She did send a quick text message to her attorney asking him to have some papers ready for her to sign in the morning.

And when morning came, she went to the law office, met her attorney at the front desk, scribbled something on a local café takeout menu to make things look good, and then shook his hand, passing on the slip of paper. Unlike her housekeeper, June _had_ read it – and it made her mad. But at the moment, she didn't have any other ideas beyond getting the message out.

As soon as he saw his client to the door, Clive Lawson retreated behind closed doors and swung a portrait of one of the firm's founding benefactors away from the wall. He worked the combination on the safe, opened it, and took out the secure phone. He keyed in a brief text message, selected the recipient's number, and hit _send_. Then he reversed the process, closing everything up and finally putting the portrait back in place.

With the visage of Byron Ellington over his shoulder, Clive sat down at his desk and started on the rest of his day's work.


	4. Warning Signs

It was another glorious day on Ambergris Caye. There had been some rain overnight, as was common, but it had left the morning air even fresher than normal. He'd again had the pleasure of waking up with Luna next to him; this time she'd been awake early too, and they'd made love to the gentle sound of the surf. Then they had taken a swim together, laughing as a huge sea turtle followed them for a while.

_Mozzie would probably think they were man-eaters…_

A shower to wash off the salt, a quick breakfast of coffee and fruit, and then they had ridden into town together. He had just seen Luna to the door of the cantina, and was starting to set up his supplies, when the phone rang.

The phone he'd brought from New York, and had only used for one call since they had left the States. The one he kept on, and charged… just in case.

It was a text message, one simple line.

_Package is being tracked._

Neal took a deep breath, staring at the four words. He was the package, he knew that. But tracked? By whom?

He was pretty sure it wasn't Peter this time. Besides the fact that Peter had given him leave to run, it didn't seem like Kramer would let him lead the search for Neal under the circumstances. It was also unlikely that a hunt led by Peter would lead to a distress message through this source.

_And thank goodness for late night talks with June over coffee, or wine, or sometimes something stronger. All those hypothetical discussions of how messages could be passed securely…_

Neal forced himself to work slowly, carefully, setting up as normal. The movements came naturally, and he let his attention wander around the square, looking for anything out of place. But except for the two tourists in wet suits heading for the docks, there was no one in sight who didn't belong there.

Still, for a message about being tracked to have reached him this way, it was something to take seriously. It had to mean more than that his photo was on a watch list at the airports and border crossings.

Maybe he'd just 'work' half a day today, and go home after lunch with Luna. He could lay low and think things over. Mozzie – _Bob_ – had an all-day charter out to several of the islands. The customers were just snorkeling today, so Neal's help wasn't needed.

He'd need to talk to Mozzie about the message tonight, of course.

But if he went home this afternoon, he could spend some extra time on the computer in Mozzie's bungalow. The codes Sally had provided were brilliant – he'd been able to access Philip Kramer's network drive with no problem. But the man had thirty five years' worth of data built up. The fact that he had scanned so much older documentation into electronic files was good, because Neal obviously couldn't go search through paper files. However, that also meant that there was a _lot_ to go through.

Add in the fact that many of the files were password protected, and the task became more difficult. Sally's program got him past firewalls, but they still had to crack passwords one by one. Fortunately, she had also supplied help on that end, but it was still slow going.

_Something_ had made Kramer fixate his attention on him, and Neal was determined to find out what it was.

Maybe when Mozzie had his next chat time with Sally, she'd have some ideas on how to speed up the search. It would really be a shame to have to move on right now, just when everything was getting set up and going well.

And maybe they could figure out exactly what the _tracking_ message meant.

* * *

Life settled back into some semblance of normality. Well, as normal as it could be anyway, under the circumstances.

Actually, Peter wasn't sure life would ever be _normal_ again.

The man he had revered as a mentor, considered a friend, for almost twenty years had turned his life upside down. And for the life of him, Peter still couldn't figure out Kramer's motivation.

Was it jealousy? All modesty aside, Peter knew he was a pretty good agent, and his team was top-notch. Still, there was no denying that Neal had brought their average up as a team. Was Kramer really so envious of a ninety-four percent conviction rate that _that_ was his motivation?

Somehow, that explanation didn't feel right.

Besides, Neal had _wanted_ to stay – had been planning to show up for work after the probation board made its determination, with or without an anklet. If it was just a matter of getting Neal's expertise on cases, they could have worked something out. Neal probably would have been excited to help with new cases; it might have even gotten him out of some of the cold case mortgage fraud cases that usually bored him. But give him an opportunity to go to DC, work on a major art theft case? That would have been something he'd love. And even if the decision had been to leave the anklet on for another two years, they could have made it work.

But the idea of forcibly taking Neal away from New York – away from his friends, and the only real family Peter thought Neal had had in a very long time? That was a recipe for disaster. Why couldn't someone as intelligent as Philip Kramer see that? And as for the plan to find some past crime not covered by the statute of limitations, or invent something, and thereby keep Neal tethered for, potentially, the rest of his life? That really did smack of revenge, or something even more sinister.

Even the whole deal with the Raphael didn't make sense. The theft itself had been almost seven years earlier, well past New York's limit for prosecution on property crimes. So Kramer's only play had been to go for possession of stolen property. But why? Neal had been trying to do the right thing, _returning_ the painting, not running with it.

As Sara had put it, there was little chance that Neal would ever be a _model_ citizen, but he had changed. Still, no matter how much Neal might have changed from the brash international thief, there was still something of the wild animal in him. And trying to keep a wild animal captive rarely worked out well.

Peter really wished he could have talked to _E. Parker_ – late of 4221 Main Street on Roosevelt Island. But by the time the dust had settled on Neal's disappearance and he'd had a chance to go back, the apartment was empty. The property manager confirmed that there was no forwarding address; the man had, however, been happy to know that he could send the bill for the damages caused by an over-zealous search of the property to the attention of Philip Kramer.

Peter didn't dare try to get witness protection information from the marshals, at least not yet. That just seemed, somehow, to be playing right into Kramer's hands.

Instead, Peter had put out some quiet feelers, looking for help from some of his former Quantico friends. So far he didn't have anything concrete, just a few people who should have been Kramer fans, but who now were reticent to say anything about him. For the sake of their careers, as well as his own, Peter knew he had to move carefully.

_But he really wanted to know…_

Right now, though, he needed to get back to work on the current case his team had drawn. Several small galleries had reported break-ins over the last few weeks, and closer investigation had shown some decent forgeries put in place. Not Caffrey quality, but not bad.

_Neal would know exactly how to…_

Except Neal wasn't there, and might never be there again, unless Peter could unravel the mystery of Philip Kramer. But he'd stand even less of a chance of doing that if he was out of a job.

Gathering the files for the current case, Peter stood up and walked into the conference room. The rest of the team was starting to assemble, and he forced himself to _not_ think about who was missing.

_He just wished he knew what was going on with the agent from Fugitive Retrieval. Maybe that was where he should concentrate his efforts next…_

* * *

"Neal, we should leave."

"No, _Bob_, we shouldn't. There's nothing to indicate anyone's been able to track us here." Neal keyed in another command to the password-cracking program Sally had sent and then turned back to his friend. "Just picking up and leaving in the middle of the night might raise a few flags."

Mozzie didn't look convinced, but he did sit down and pick up his glass of wine. "So, nothing else? Just being tracked?"

"That was the whole message."

"Not good."

"I know. That's why I told you. But just because someone is looking, it doesn't mean they'll find us." Neal leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his own glass, watching the ripples. "And if it comes down to it, I'll leave. You don't have to. It's me they're…"

"We're in this together, _Vic._"

Neal smiled, raising his glass. "And I'm glad you're here. Maybe it's time for a little bonus to Hector?"

"I'll see to it in the morning, make sure he doubles his watchers."

"Good idea."

"You know, we have that private Caye. Maybe it's time to start building a little retreat there."

"I don't know. At least in San Pedro there are other people around, ways to hide your tracks. On a private island, if someone gets that far, there's not much help."

"We could make it impregnable. Money's no issue. Walls, guards…"

"Sounds a lot like prison," Neal said softly.

"So, what do you want to do?"

Neal took another look at the password cracking program, noting that it was still working on the current problem. "Aside from getting Kramer to use _one_ password for everything, you mean?"

"If he wasn't so crooked, I'd admire his paranoia."

That was worthy of a laugh. "Yeah, I bet you would." Neal paused, sipping his wine and then staring at the remaining deep red liquid in his glass for a moment. "Are you talking to Sally tonight?"

"No, she had a deal tonight."

"Another hackers' conclave?"

"Maybe."

"Long live the proletariat."

"Exactly. What did you want from Sally?"

"I was wondering if… well, maybe there's a way I could talk to Peter."

Mozzie's look was immediately skeptical. "Neal, he might be the one tracking the package."

"I don't think so."

"I know you want to trust the Suit, but is it worth the risk?"

"Well, if Sally can give us a way to talk securely, there wouldn't be a risk."

Mozzie considered that a moment, then nodded. "We're talking again tomorrow. I'll ask."

"Thanks, Moz." There was a soft _beep_ from the computer and Neal turned to look at the monitor. "One more password down. Let's see what Kramer's hiding here…"

* * *

Another day, a few more answers, a lot more questions.

Peter sighed, taking a moment to rub his eyes and then get up for a fresh bottle of beer. Back at the table, he stared at the notes he'd made. He'd gotten cryptic messages back from a couple of contacts. They might have information, but were unwilling to speak on the phone.

They were also unwilling to come to New York as long as Kramer was there.

_And somehow Peter figured it would raise a few flags if he suddenly planned a business trip to visit them…_

El had suggested that she go, under the guise of exploring new event planning horizons, or possibly scouting gallery openings for ideas for the DeArmitt. She'd go, and pick up any messages the other agents would share.

He hated the idea of getting her involved. Of course, the fact was that she was already involved – she cared about Neal, and Mozzie. Their absence created just as much of a hole for her as for him.

Maybe even more, since the mystery was taking up so much of her husband's time too.

It was a fallback plan he'd keep in mind. Maybe he'd try to get home early enough the next night so they could take Satchmo for a long walk.

_Something Neal had told him one night, while they were alone in the car on a stakeout. __If in doubt, don't talk in a club, or a car, or on a cell phone in the open. Always be careful before talking on any phone, or even in your house. Walk and talks were best, with the movement and surrounding distractions making it hard for anyone to pick up a conversation._

And how sad that he had to be thinking about such things just to have a conversation with his own wife.

The one lead he was cautiously optimistic about was finding the identity of Kramer's former CI – the one who sent him e-mails from prison. Under the guise of verifying the stipend they had paid Neal, he'd had accounting run a check on all of the CI records for the DC Art Crimes office. And fortunately, only one name had turned up connected to Kramer for any length of time during the right period.

_Joseph Sherwood. Cat burglar, confidence artist._

It was interesting – his record prior to working for Kramer had been completely non-violent. And yet it was an armed robbery charge that had put him back in prison, even though he had seemed to have his life somewhat in order. Unlike Neal, Sherwood had not worked for the Bureau full time. Instead, he had a decent job selling cars for his brother-in-law. He had a wife, two young children…

_What would make a non-violent man suddenly take up a gun like that?_

Sure, Neal had taken up a gun against Keller – but only when the kidnapper/thief/killer had gotten the upper hand against Peter with a dagger bearing down. That was totally different than what Sherwood was alleged to have done, taking a gun into a liquor store and holding hostages.

Sherwood had protested his innocence, of course; and, looking at the case file, it appeared that all of the evidence was, at best, circumstantial. No video, no DNA, only a partial fingerprint, the suspect wore a mask. Still, that didn't _prove_ anything.

Fortunately, prisoner e-mails were archived. With some cold case files to back up his interest, Peter filled out an official request for the records for a dozen prisoners with similar convictions. He felt a momentary pang of guilt for the person who was going to get the request, and have to do all that extra work, because he was only going to look at one set of records, of course.

He pushed the guilt aside, and sent the request off. His gut was telling him this was a lead worth following, and he rarely bet against his gut.

* * *

The information he found was, quite simply, stunning.

Password after password fell to Sally's program, as Neal dug ever deeper into Kramer's files. And what he found, honestly, was enough to shake him to his core.

As more and more pieces fell into place, he started cutting back on the time he spent in town. If Mozzie didn't need him to lead a dive, he only went in for half a day. He'd sketch in the morning, to keep up appearances, have lunch with Luna, and then head home.

Actually, he started at Mozzie's bungalow, taking advantage of the wide array of electronic equipment available. But when he found the bits and pieces of the trail he was looking for, he printed things out and took them home, reading them over and over after Luna went to sleep.

For her sake, he tried to keep things as normal as possible at home. She came by each night when business at the Blue Oasis slowed down; he made sure to be home by then. And when they were together, talking, strolling on the beach, making love, he tried to give her his full attention.

But the more he learned, the more he knew he couldn't bring this to a close himself. Fortunately, Sally came through again…

* * *

It was another late night in front of the computer. Elizabeth had long since gone up to bed, and Peter knew he should join her. The general lack of sleep over the last couple of months was catching up to him.

_Somehow, he wasn't as young and invincible as he had once been…_

He'd gotten the file of e-mails he had requested. He was only interested in the ones to and from Joseph Sherwood, of course; the rest he filed away, just in case someone asked about them. And what he found was very interesting. In fact, if Sherwood's allegations were true it would be… stunning.

Sherwood was incarcerated at Hazelton, a federal prison in Bruceton Mills, West Virginia. That, in itself, was strange, since the man had lived in Virginia, and the alleged crime was also committed in Virginia.

Peter was just pulling up MapQuest, considering the roughly three hundred fifty mile drive, when his screen suddenly flashed with strange patterns three times.

_Damn, this was an almost new laptop…_

The patterns coalesced into words. _**Blue Oasis. San Pedro. Ask for a portrait.**_ And then a picture appeared.

_Vulture._

The words reappeared for a few seconds, then the picture of a vulture again, and then everything faded out, and the map to Bruceton Mills was back.

There were a couple of possibilities. It was possible that someone was playing with him, using the Vulture as a ruse. But from what he understood of the hacking world, there was a code – you didn't violate another hacker's online ID.

Had someone gotten to Sally? He thought it unlikely. After the bank case, she had disappeared back into her cyber world, where her defenses were reputed to be as impenetrable as anyone had seen.

His thoughts went back to that case, when he'd had Neal call Mozzie, and they'd caught the man… in a 'private' situation with Sally. It stood to reason that the two conspiracy theorists might keep in touch. So either she had turned on Mozzie…

Or this was a message she had been asked to pass on.

He was working on a Bureau laptop, and he had no illusions about his own skill in hiding his internet history from a determined recovery tech. But there was one San Pedro he was familiar with, and he didn't need a computer to start his research.

He went to the stairs, moving up as quickly as he could while still trying to keep the noise down.

_One of these days he really should work on those treads, fasten them down tightly to get rid of the squeaking some of them made. He'd been promising El to do that for a while now._

The third floor was mostly unfinished. They always had plans, but they never seemed to have the time to do much about it. One room had been designated a library; so far it had a couple of assembled shelving units, and lots of boxes of books.

There were also boxes from the trips he and El had taken – and not nearly enough for twelve years of marriage, he realized, as he looked at the small pile. That was something else they should work on.

_If he was right about his theory, maybe they'd be looking at a trip soon…_

The Belize box was on top; it was the last real trip they had taken. He took out the stack of photos they had printed out from the trip, and the disks that the digital photos had been burned to. There were a couple of guide books, some postcards, the souvenir snorkel from the reef trip.

And a handful of brochures from the country's tourism bureau.

He found the one about Ambergris Caye, the largest of the islands off the Belize coast. San Pedro was the town on the very southern tip – really the only town on the island. They'd spent a couple of hours wandering the markets there one day before heading out on a sailing charter.

The brochure was full of colorful photos, extolling the peaceful island life. Of course, there were also places where a tourist could spend money on the island. And it was in the index at the back that he found what he was looking for.

_Blue Oasis Cantina, Market Square._

He'd have to talk to El in the morning – maybe while they walked Satchmo. If she could get away, they could make this look like a vacation. They could certainly use one after the last few months.

Of course, any travel plans would raise flags with Kramer, OPR, and now with the Fugitive Retrieval agent, Alphonse. But there might be a way around that too – or at least a way to lessen the suspicion.

Good thing he was already having lunch with Sara and June the next day anyway…


	5. Vacation

"You cannot be serious."

Neal sighed, staring out over the water. Mozzie's reaction wasn't unexpected – but _getting_ an unexpected response, like a helpful suggestion, would have been nice. "This could be big, Moz. The answer to why Kramer is doing all of this. Peter needs to know."

"Agreed. But you flying off to New York is not the way to do it. Honestly, Neal, you need to focus a little more on self-preservation."

"So your solution is to just wait."

"Sally passed on the message. And it's only been four days. If the Suit is being watched…"

Neal gave that a long sigh. "I'm sure he is."

"All the more reason he needs to be careful."

"Yeah."

Mozzie moved up next to him, mirroring his stance as they looked out over the glittering water, turning dark in the early evening dusk. "Neal, I have to ask. Are you _sure_ it's a good idea giving the Suit this location? He could get the attention off of him by turning you in."

"I trust Peter."

"You're trusting him with your entire future. As in whether or not you even have one."

"Look, even if he comes here to take me back, I know he'll listen first."

"You could leave him the information and observe the fallout from a safe distance."

"I think this is something I have to see through personally, Moz."

"I've always said that your noble streak will be your undoing."

"I know you have."

"But have you _listened_?"

Neal looked at his friend, a soft smile on his face. "Apparently not."

Mozzie gave that a quick grunt in agreement, and then moved on. "I provided Hector with a photo. If the Suit shows up, we should get notice – like how many storm troopers he has with him."

"Keep the light sabers charged, Moz."

"Always."

"All right, I'm going to town to have dinner with Luna. You want to come?"

"No, Sally and I have a chat set up. But if you happened to have a bottle of that excellent pinot noir…"

"In the cabinet by the stove. Help yourself…" Neal just grinned as Mozzie hurried into the bungalow. "Like always."

* * *

Plans came together quickly once Peter got things started. By the time he and El finished their walk with Satchmo the morning after Sally's message was received, El already knew how she could rearrange things to free up her schedule for a few days. There was a show opening at the DeArmitt in two weeks, but she already had all of the plans in place. And Yvonne, her second-in-command at Burke Premier Events, was more than capable of stepping up to take charge of the pending obligations there.

Lunch with Sara and June put a few more pieces into place.

A quick call to a grateful travel professional at Elite Voyages and they had last-minute tickets to Belize City, complete with an upgrade to first class.

Hughes had actually been happy to approve Peter's request for time off. In fact he probably would have been happier if Peter had requested more than a few days…

But he knew better than to push it. And, to Peter's deep appreciation, his boss also didn't ask too many questions.

Diana and Christie agreed to take care of Satchmo, and Diana would provide a ride to the airport.

She arrived right on time, just before six o'clock on a Thursday morning. And fortunately she had one of the Bureau's Explorer SUVs.

"Takes almost as much to pack for you, buddy," Peter explained to Satchmo as he loaded dog food, a pet bed, assorted toys and treats, and a favorite blanket into the back of the vehicle.

_He had to close his eyes for a moment, trying to block the image he had of a day not so long ago when Neal had been on the floor with Satch, the two of them playing tug with the blanket…_

Attention back to the present, Peter gestured to Satchmo. "Come on, boy. Jump up."

Satchmo leapt into the back of the SUV just as Diana came out with a suitcase. "I hope he listens to me as well," she said, hefting the bag into the back seat.

"He's usually pretty good. We really do appreciate this, especially on short notice."

"Christie's been talking about getting a dog. This will be good practice."

Any reply Peter might have made was cut off when another vehicle pulled up, angling across the front of Diana's, and Philip Kramer stepped out.

"Come to wish us bon voyage, Phil?" Peter asked, the sarcasm in his voice all but visible.

"Just wondering about this little last-minute jaunt of yours, Petey. Belize. What's in Belize?"

"A vacation. You know, something people do to get away from people who are causing them stress."

If Kramer caught the dig, he didn't let on. "A vacation. You're sure that's it?"

Peter shrugged. "What else would it be?"

Kramer's smile was smug. "Oh, maybe you're meeting someone there."

Peter could be smug too. "I'm sure we will. El and I are friendly people. We make new friends when we travel."

"But why Belize, Petey?"

"El and I went there for our tenth anniversary – I'm sure you can verify that. We liked it. It's a beautiful country, with great people. _Honest_ people."

"Might be a good place to hide out too."

"What are you suggesting, Phil?"

"Oh, maybe you've arranged to meet Caffrey there."

"Why in the world would Neal let me know where he was? I'm an FBI agent, he's on the run." _And he'd learned a few things about deflection and diversion from his partner over the last couple of years._

"Petey…"

"You know what, Phil? The last few months have been kind of rough. Elizabeth was kidnapped by Matthew Keller, and I was almost killed when Neal and I took him down. And then I have the man who I thought was my friend making my life hell."

"Pete, you know damn well…"

Both men looked up as a door slammed behind them. Diana hurried to help with the luggage as Elizabeth locked the door and came down the steps.

Kramer plastered a smile on his face. "Good morning, Elizabeth."

"Agent Kramer." The frost in her voice was matched by that in her eyes.

"Not all that long ago, it was 'Philip' and I was welcome in your home."

"Well, things change." Elizabeth put her carryon into the back of the car and slammed the door, maybe just a little harder than necessary.

"Elizabeth, I'm just trying to protect Peter…"

Elizabeth spun on Kramer, eyes blazing. "Peter is fully able to take care of himself. And he certainly didn't need to be protected from Neal."

"Caffrey was trying to…"

"It's been great seeing you, Phil," Peter cut in. "But we have a flight to catch."

"It won't go well for you if you're trying to help Caffrey."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And I suppose the fact that Sara Ellis left for Hong Kong yesterday, and June Ellington is going to Paris later today, would just be a coincidence?"

Peter shrugged, holding the passenger door open for Elizabeth. "I guess you'd have to ask them. Sara travels quite frequently for her work. And I'm sure, after the wonderful impression you made last time, Winston Bosch can make time to see you in a month or two. As for June, she's been talking about taking her granddaughter to Paris for some time now."

_At least since their lunch on Monday…_

"I'll be reporting all of this to Agent Alphonse," Kramer warned.

"You do that." Peter closed the door for Elizabeth and got into the back seat, even as Diana slid behind the wheel. They backed up, and then pulled around the DC agent's car, mere inches away.

Peter stared resolutely ahead, not looking back.

* * *

The waiting was the hardest part, Neal decided. Of course, that wasn't really news. He'd always had trouble waiting. _Planning_ a heist or a con was exhilarating; actually waiting for the right time was hard. Analyzing a case for the FBI and setting up a sting plan was challenging; the waiting to get everything approved and set up was agony.

And don't even get him started on the painful experience that most of the long stakeouts in the van turned out to be.

Still, for the sake of anyone who might yet be suspicious of the new arrivals on Ambergris, he tried to keep things as normal as possible. And he owed it to Luna – who had never really asked him for a promise of anything – to pay as much attention to her as she deserved. It wasn't anything serious; he couldn't let it be, and she didn't expect it. But there was no doubt that she had helped him adjust to the life of a fugitive.

But now he was sitting on some information that seemed like it could explode at any moment. There was little he could do from the tranquility of Ambergris Caye. On the other hand, if he went back to New York there was a lot he could do.

Except that he'd probably be picked up by one law enforcement agency or another before he could even get to the federal building, much less confront Kramer.

It was just hard to rely on so many other people, instead of just on himself. Mozzie was the one in contact with Sally. Sally said that she had gotten the message to Peter – but there was no easy, secure way to make sure he had gotten it, or understood it. And, of course, no way to know if Peter would come.

_Mozzie added the extra fear that Peter would come, backed by a Suit army. But Mozzie didn't know Peter like Neal did._

A shadow fell over his easel and he looked up to find a man and woman standing there. Bermuda shorts, tank tops, floppy hats, and skin glistening from suntan lotion…

_Tourists._

He smiled, standing up to greet them. "Good morning."

Matching smiles met his. "Good morning," The man said. "We're told you're the artist who did the magnificent painting in our hotel across the way," the man said.

"Guilty as charged," Neal admitted.

"And would that be your work as well?" the woman asked, pointing at the Blue Oasis.

Neal nodded. "Also mine. And would I be correct in guessing you're from Scotland? I'd say Edinburgh or vicinity."

"You've a good ear," the woman said. "Have you been to Edinburgh then?"

"I have. Spent some very pleasant time there a few years back." He held out his hand. "Vic Moreau."

"Damon Scott, and my wife Marisa."

Neal nodded to each in turn. "A pleasure. Were you interested in a sketch this fine morning?"

Marisa nodded, pointing back toward the cantina. "Perhaps with your mural in the background?"

"My pleasure." Neal quickly moved the guest chairs to the other side of his small booth, and then shifted his easel into position.

_It would be good to have a distraction this morning…_

* * *

They had to change planes in Miami, and Peter paid close attention to his surroundings, looking to see if anyone was paying too much attention to them. The crowded concourses made it hard to tell – so many people sporting shirts and bags from various cruise lines, as well as other paraphernalia speaking of vacation locations.

The flight onward to Belize City was delayed, which roused his suspicions again. But some casual questioning of the gate agent just disclosed a general shortage of ground crew at the airport – _budget cuts, you know_ – which lead to a delay in getting the plane fueled.

The wait turned out to only be about an extra half hour, so they'd still be in Belize City by mid-afternoon. From there they'd take a water taxi out to Ambergris Caye, where Kathy had been able to get them a room at a small hotel that she assured them was charming.

_If he was actually looking for a vacation, the 'charming' part might be good. El, at least, would appreciate it. But she understood why they were really going._

Kathy had also found them a good map of Market Square in San Pedro, and had marked the location of the Blue Oasis. For good measure, she added some reviews from some travel site or another. Most of them used words like rustic, authentic.

_As long as he could find out about getting a portrait done, Peter didn't care._

* * *

Hector himself was waiting at the docks when Mozzie pulled the boat in next to Mozart Charters. Neal tossed the mooring ropes over and then turned to help the diving party up onto the pier. He handed up their personal gear and then joined them on the dock, exchanging a few pleasantries as they happily pressed a tip into his hand.

Mozzie joined him on the dock as the customers walked off, and then they both turned to greet the visitor.

Hector was a big man, with probably a good three or four inches in height, and a hundred pounds, over Neal. He wore his thinning dark hair combed over the top of his head, and a graying goatee graced his chin.

"You have news?" Mozzie asked.

Hector nodded and pulled a photo out of his pocket. "My people tell me this man arrived on a flight from Miami today."

Neal looked over at the photo, and his heart might have skipped a beat.

_Peter._

"Was he alone?" Mozzie asked.

"There was a woman with him. Long hair, very pretty. And my men say that he was followed from the airport."

That got Neal's attention. "Followed – by whom?"

Hector sneered and spit off to one side. "The swine work for Santiago."

Neal looked to his left, meeting Mozzie's eyes. They both knew who Santiago was – one of the drug lords who had recently brought danger to this beautiful paradise. Fortunately, most of his operation was based either in the interior of the country, or on a couple of the southern-most Cayes that they could easily avoid.

Mozzie tapped the photo. "Where is this man staying?"

"He and the woman are here on Ambergris, at the Paradiso." Hector's eyes narrowed as he looked at the two men across from him. "Is this man involved with Santiago?"

Neal shook his head. "No, they are definitely not associated with Santiago." _Hector might have his finger on the pulse of the Belize underworld, but he hated the drug trade._

"We have some mutual interests," Mozzie added, reaching into his pocket. He slipped some bills into Hector's hand, "Thanks for the information."

Hector seemed to accept that for now, and he turned to walk away.

When they were alone again, Mozzie broke the silence. "So, what now?"

"I need to talk to him."

"And you're _sure_ you can trust him?"

Neal nodded slowly. "I'm sure."


	6. Reunion

It was hard to even appreciate the tropical beauty when he was so frustrated. But for Elizabeth's sake, Peter was trying.

They had gotten checked into their hotel, a small, homey place very near the square – and the Blue Oasis. The cantina had its own island charm, and the woman behind the bar had been very helpful. Yes, there was a wonderful artist who could do a portrait. He usually set up right in the square. But no, he was not there now. Sometimes he helped a friend with diving trips. He would probably be back in the morning.

So, instead of a portrait, or the meeting he really was hoping for, he and El wound up having drinks and an early dinner at the cantina. They walked past the booth that had been pointed out, noticing a couple of sample sketches posted there.

_And yes, those certainly seemed like work that Neal might have done…_

Asking a lot of questions about the artist and his whereabouts seemed like a good way to make the locals suspicious so, mustering all of his self-restraint, Peter refrained. Instead, he and El wandered around the square for a bit, stopping to listen to a guitar player for a while. Then they wandered down to the waterfront, watching as the setting sun turned the water golden, then dark purple. Finally, they headed back for the hotel. They could get a good night's sleep, and hope that the artist they sought was in the booth in the morning.

Their room was on the second floor, overlooking the water a block away. Peter unlocked the door, holding it open for Elizabeth to enter first.

He almost ran into her when she gasped and stopped short.

Ingrained training took over and Peter found himself reaching for a non-existent gun as he moved to protect Elizabeth. There was a shadow in the far corner, near the window, a shadow that moved, and then spoke…

"Peter."

His breath caught in his chest, and it was a moment before he could speak. "Neal?"

The shadow stepped closer, morphing into a familiar shape in the dim light. "Yeah."

He wasn't exactly sure what happened next, but somehow they met in the middle, and he found himself engulfed in a warm hug with the man he had wondered if he would ever see again. And when they finally stepped away, Elizabeth was there, giving and receiving her own welcoming hug.

Peter just stood back and watched, forcing himself to breathe normally again. And realizing how much was being communicated without a single word spoken.

But finally, it was time for words. "Got your message. You did mean to come here, right?"

Neal's smile was evident, even in the dusky light. "Yeah. Well, assuming you're here to listen, not just arrest me."

Peter made a show of patting his pockets. "Look at me. I seem to have forgotten to pack my badge and handcuffs."

"I'd run interference for you," Elizabeth said, patting Neal's arm. "Neal, what's going on?"

"There's a lot more to this than Kramer just wanting you to work for him," Peter added.

Neal nodded. "Yeah, there is. How much do you know?"

Peter sighed and sank down onto the bed. "Not much. Kramer's got OPR investigating things, so I've had to be pretty careful. Have you found out anything?"

"I have some of the pieces, at least enough so I wanted you to know. But we can't talk here." Neal slipped to the window, carefully looking out. "You were followed from the airport."

"I thought I might have seen someone," Peter admitted. "But I couldn't be sure. Do you know who?"

"The men work for Rueben Santiago."

"I know that name from somewhere. Isn't he a drug lord or something?"

"Yeah, Guatemalan native who started moving some of his operation in here a couple of years ago."

Elizabeth sat down next to her husband. "Wait, a drug lord is having us followed?"

"Well, the men work for him, but I don't think it's actually Santiago who's behind it," Neal replied.

It wasn't hard for Peter to guess. "You think it's Kramer."

"Santiago is well known to the DEA. It might not be hard for a senior FBI agent to get the name, maybe work a little side deal. Of course, I don't have any proof."

"Yeah, just like I don't have any proof the drivers in the dark sedans with the tinted windows were sent by him to watch when I had lunch with Sara and June the other day."

"Are they all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine. You know Sara's quite capable of spotting and evading a tail. And June – well, I think she still has some friends from back in the day."

Neal nodded, approaching the bed and crouching down on one knee to stay out of sight through the window. "She's got good people to help her."

"They miss you though."

Neal's head bowed for a moment before he finally replied. "And I miss them, more than I ever thought I could." He looked up again, eye to eye. "Peter, that day, on the steps. You did mean…"

Peter nodded. "Kramer was still coming after you, looking for anything to get you at least a long sentence, if not life. I didn't know what his game was, and I didn't have a way to stop him. So yes, I meant for you to go."

Neal breathed out what seemed to be a sigh of relief. "I was hoping I got that right."

"You did. Now, if we can't talk here, where?"

"Tomorrow morning, go down to the docks and find Mozart Charters."

"Mozart? As in…"

The grin was evident in Neal's voice, even if barely visible in the shadows. "Some things are harder to leave behind than others."

"All right, we find Mozart."

"Book an island tour. I happen to know the proprietor is free all morning. Pay close attention to the locations he points out, and you'll know where to come tomorrow night. We'll try to arrange a little diversion, but just watch that you're not followed."

"When is this happening?"

"After dark will be best."

"All right. We'll play tourist until then."

Neal nodded and got to his feet, moving toward the door. "I've got some things to arrange. I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Neal, wait." Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "There's something you need to know," he said, turning the screen away from him. "Have you seen this guy?"

Neal studied the photo for a moment and then shook his head. "No, he doesn't look familiar. Who is he?"

"Special Agent Laz Alphonse – Fugitive Retrieval unit."

That got a short, sharp laugh from Neal. "Seriously, Fugitive Retrieval? Have I made the FBI's top ten most wanted list?"

"Well, you've made the top of Kramer's list."

"Kramer was at our house before we left, Neal," Elizabeth added. "He knows we were coming here."

"I told him it was a vacation, and the fact that El and I did come here a couple of years ago should help. Plus, Sara and June just happen to be traveling right now too. Still, you should be careful."

"I will," Neal promised. He opened the door just a crack, studying the hall for a moment. "Tomorrow night."

And then he was gone.

* * *

The next day passed quietly, and either quickly or slowly, depending on how one wanted to look at things.

Mozart Charters was, indeed, available for a morning tour of the islands. The bearded boat operator, with his heavy zinc-infused sunscreen on his nose and an overly large hat protecting his follicle-challenged pate, took them on a zigzag run through the Cayes, and over the great reef. A small power boat seemed to follow them for a while, at least until they headed out to deeper water, but there was nothing suspicious about the route they traveled.

Peter did, however, make careful note of the lagoon that was pointed out before they turned to the east. He memorized the topography of the inlet, even as Elizabeth got the directions on where and when to find a small boat that would take them to that same lagoon later that day.

There was no sign of the smaller boat by the time they pulled back into the dock just before noon. They did, however, have a welcoming party. Neal and Luna were wrapped around each other, having a quiet moment together in the shadows of the charter office building. They kissed, long and passionate, and then Luna waved and headed back toward the square as Neal came to help tie up the boat.

Recognizing the diving equipment waiting nearby, Peter mused aloud about a yet-unsolved crime from some eight years ago in Venice, where the thief made away with some priceless gems – and was rumored to have made his escape by way of scuba gear and the interconnected canals in the city.

Neal just gave them his most charmingly innocent smile and asked how the tour had been.

Peter and Elizabeth spent the afternoon in and around the square, being conspicuously touristy. They managed to get Luna to admit that _Vic_ was a special friend – but that was all she would share about him. She was much more willing to point them to interesting sights they could visit within easy walking distance.

Mozzie and Neal had briefly discussed canceling that afternoon's dive trip, but keeping up normal appearances was important when one was on the run. Besides, until it was dark, and safe to get Peter and Elizabeth to the bungalows, there wasn't much else to do.

They were back at the dock by early evening. Neal packed away all of the gear and set out the empty air tanks to be refilled, while Mozzie sold the tourists another trip in two days. Then Neal went back up to his booth in the square, picked up the package Luna had said she'd leave for him, got on his scooter, and headed home to prepare for company.

Mozzie puttered around the docks for a bit, chatting with a couple of local fishermen and making sure that a certain dinghy was fueled. Then he got into his runabout and puttered up the coast, as he usually did.

Peter and Elizabeth had dinner at the hotel, admiring the mural Mozzie had confirmed was Neal's work. And then, as dusk fell, they walked openly around the square, hand in hand, not a care in the world. When they headed up to their room, anyone watching would have noted the lights coming on, the blinds being drawn, and, if someone was close enough, the soft music playing on a radio.

When an impromptu fireworks display suddenly started from a barge just offshore, it naturally caught the attention of everyone left in the square, no matter why they might have been there. And no one was watching the back door of the hotel when Peter and Elizabeth slipped out and headed for the docks.

The first shells started to explode just as Mozzie was turning to pull into the secluded lagoon, and he was smiling as he pulled up across from the cigarette boat at the floating dock.

_It was good to have a billion dollars…_


	7. Tales to Tell

Leaving Elizabeth at the rudder to steer, Peter edged as far as he could toward the front of the small boat. He had a rough idea how long it should take to reach their destination, and as they got closer, he leaned over the bow, trying to pick out the lagoon entrance.

He also kept an eye out behind them, looking for any sign of being followed, but he saw nothing.

Finally, he saw the landmark he was looking for and he signaled Elizabeth to steer them in. There was room to pull the dinghy up in front of the cigarette boat, as promised; in the dark, that would make it all but invisible to anyone who didn't come all the way into the lagoon.

He hopped onto the dock, pulling the tie rope with him. He looped the rope around a cleat a few times, and then reached a hand down to help Elizabeth up. Then they walked across the beach toward the bungalow on the left.

The door opened before they got there, and Peter's eyes automatically went to scan the area, wondering where the early warning sensors were. But Elizabeth just headed up onto the porch, to be enveloped in a hug from Neal.

And Neal was looking quite… tropical, Peter noted. In town, he had been wearing the lightweight pants and gauzy shirt common to the area. But now, at home, he was in board shorts and a t-shirt – not a look he was used to seeing on Neal Caffrey.

_It did seem to suit Vic however…_

Mozzie was there too – and _not_ in shorts, Peter noted, thinking this was probably a good thing.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and then looked around. The front room was cluttered with computers and electronic equipment of all sorts. _Definitely Mozzie's place – Neal's must be the bungalow on the other side of the tree break._

Neal was pulling out chairs around the small table on one side of the room and Peter followed his wife in that direction. As they sat down, Neal disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared with three goblets, a bottle of wine…

And a cold beer that he set down in front of Peter with a flourish.

"It's not Heisler," Neal admitted with a smile. "But it's one of the local favorites."

Peter smiled and lifted the bottle. "Am I going to need this tonight?"

"Probably many of them," Mozzie replied.

"There's a whole case in the refrigerator." Neal opened the wine, filled the three glasses, and then sat down. "How much have you figured out?"

Peter pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and handed it off to Mozzie. "These are some e-mails that Kramer received from his former CI, Joseph Sherwood. If even part of what he's alleging is true, Kramer might be involved in a decades-old cover-up of a major crime."

Mozzie was inserting the drive into a laptop. "That could tie in with some of what Neal and I have found."

"The password is satchmo47," Peter offered as the prompt came up.

"How pedestrian," Mozzie muttered as he typed it in.

Peter ignored the comment and continued. "Between Kramer and OPR, I haven't been able to do as much as I would have liked. Sherwood is still in prison, in West Virginia. I was going to try and get there, talk to him myself."

"The famous Burke gut detective, you know," Elizabeth said.

Peter nodded. "Well, my gut says there's something rotten going on here."

"You're probably right." Neal reached for a file folder laying on the table and pulled out a photo, sliding it across. "George Carmody."

Peter looked down at the photo – it was black and white, a bit grainy. The man appeared to be wearing a police uniform, and…

_The resemblance was uncanny._

He did a double-take, and looked up suddenly at Neal. "Who…"

"My father."

Elizabeth had taken the photo from her husband's hand. "Wow, you really look alike."

Neal nodded. "I guess we do. I'd heard that from my mom, but there weren't any photos."

"You didn't have photos of your dad growing up?" Elizabeth asked.

"No. And there were reasons."

Peter was starting to form a theory. "So his name was Carmody?"

Neal paused for a long sip of wine. "Neal Caffrey is my legal name," he finally said. "But it's not the name I was born with, or the name I grew up with."

"Witness protection?" Peter guessed.

"Yeah. I told you what my mom always said, that he was a cop who died a hero in a big shoot-out."

"But then you also said he was a dirty cop."

"He was. The shoot-out was real, he just wasn't on the hero side."

"Was he killed?" Elizabeth asked.

"My mom said he died, but he actually went to prison." Neal pulled something else out of the folder and laid it on the table. "He got twenty-five to life at Hazelton in…"

"Bruceton Mills, West Virginia," Peter supplied. "That's the same place Sherwood is serving time."

"Quite a _coincidence_," Mozzie offered.

"It seems to be Kramer's go-to place." Neal set another document out. "This was the original heist."

Peter quickly scanned the page. "Greek antiquities, destined for the Smithsonian."

"And my sources," Neal said pausing for a glance at Mozzie, "tell me that only a handful have ever surfaced."

"Isn't it possible that they're just in someone's private collection?" Elizabeth asked.

"Possible, yes," Mozzie conceded. "But the number of collectors with that kind of money is somewhat limited. And someone had to broker the sale."

Peter nodded in understanding. "So much of the cache might still be hidden somewhere."

"There's that possibility," Neal replied. "And… there's some speculation that my dad's the one who hid the take."

Peter finished scanning the last page. "This says four men were arrested – three police officers, including your father, plus one other man. And there was one fatality among the suspects."

"I guess you could say the heist didn't go quite as smoothly as planned. They got away from the original job, but were tracked down fairly quickly. And there were two civilian casualties in the shootout." Neal passed over another page, a copy of a newspaper article.

"So did your mom know about this?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head. "I don't think so. There was never any indication of that."

"Then why the witness protection?"

That brought a few more documents out of Neal's folder. "There was always a feeling that not all of the people involved in the theft were apprehended. For one thing, only a handful of people knew the time and delivery route for the shipment – and this was way before the internet as we know it, so the plans weren't compromised through hacking. These are the agents who planned the transfer."

It didn't take long for one name to jump out to Peter. "Kramer was one of the agents."

"One of four FBI agents to assist with the delivery planning, along with two people from the museum," Neal confirmed. "He was quite the star – an up and coming agent about three years out of Quantico."

"Anything that ties him directly to the theft?" _And Peter was almost afraid to hear the answer…_

"Not directly, no. But there's this." Neal slid another list over. "The visitation log from Hazelton."

Peter sighed in resignation. "Kramer visited your father."

"Every month, for twenty-five years. And then there's this." Another document from Neal's folder, which was almost empty now. "When my dad's sentence was almost up, he made a claim to the warden that he was being threatened from someone on the outside. So they gave one release date out publicly. But they actually released him a week earlier."

Peter tossed the papers in his hand down on the table and reached for his beer, downing the rest of the liquid. "Kramer was there on the public release date – and raised a stink when George Carmody was already gone."

"And George Carmody disappeared after his release from prison. I haven't found a trace of that name – at least, not the _right_ George Carmody – since." Neal got up and disappeared into the next room, returning a moment later with a fresh beer.

Peter accepted the new bottle with a nod of thanks, still trying to process what he was seeing and hearing. "So you think Kramer helped set up the job, and was keeping tabs on your dad to try and find out where the stash was hidden?"

"I don't have any proof that would stand up in court," Neal admitted. "But we've checked the other agents, and the museum employees. None of them had any interest in my dad, or the other men who were arrested, beyond testifying at the trials."

"Where does the witness protection come in?"

Neal drained his glass, refilled it, and topped off the glasses for Mozzie and Elizabeth before answering. "Keep in mind that I only have bits and pieces of this. I was three when all of this was happening. I didn't know anything about what my dad did until I was eighteen, and I only found out about the witness protection about two months before that. But apparently, it was true that there were other people involved in the theft – and they wanted to know where the stash was."

"They threatened your mom?" Elizabeth guessed.

Neal nodded. "She had me, and she had just found out she was pregnant. She did what she had to do to protect her kids. The marshals moved us from DC to St. Louis. I grew up there as Nick Geary."

Elizabeth reached for his hand. "That must have been hard, leaving like that."

"Remember, I had just turned three. I have a couple of really vague memories of my dad, but that's about it. And changing last names at that age wasn't a big deal. I was still Nick, or Nicky. By the time I really got the whole last name thing, it was just Geary, and no reason to question it." Neal turned to Peter. "Remember _E. Parker_?"

"Hard to forget anything about that day, what with your tram stunt," Peter grumbled. "The woman you went to see on Roosevelt Island."

"Yeah, my dad's partner. She got word somehow about the threat to our family, and actually saved my mom's life." Neal paused, draining half of his wine before continuing. "I guess my mom wasn't doing real well. A toddler, a baby on the way, her husband going to prison, someone trying to kill her. Anyway, Ellen had made herself a target too, so she agreed to go into witness protection with us. When I was a kid, I always called her Aunt Ellen. I was a teenager before I found out we weren't actually related. But she was always a good friend."

"I went back there a few days later," Peter said. "The apartment was empty."

"Yeah, she would have had to move on. I apologized for that."

"Well, apparently the search wasn't very clean." Peter grinned. "The manager was glad to get Kramer's name to send the bill to."

"Ha!" Mozzie raised his glass in a toast. "How apropos."

Neal smiled and nodded in agreement. "Anyway, St. Louis. I grew up hearing about my hero dad, and that's all I could think about, being a cop like him. So, believe it or not, I was a pretty good kid. I hustled a little pool for pocket money, but that was about as far to the dark side as I went. I met a couple of army vets at the pool hall, and they'd take me out to the shooting range with them. I got to where I could hit the target with whatever they gave me – handgun, rifle, shotgun. Fieldstrip, disassemble and reassemble, load while blindfolded. I was going to _nail_ the firearms part of the police academy. And I played sports. Football… even baseball."

That got Peter's attention. "You played baseball? You _hate_ baseball."

"I didn't hate it when I played. And I was good – not drafted-by-the-Twins good, but good." Neal's voice dropped off and he stared at his wine. "Now, it's just another reminder of what I've lost. That's why I don't like to watch it."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, and they let the silence continue for a long moment before Neal finally cleared his throat and continued.

"Anyway, I was a pretty good student. My senior year and I had a GPA just two hundredths under a straight four point oh."

Peter grinned. "What happened?"

Neal sighed and slowly shook his head. "Angela Sorenson. She distracted me in health class."

He let them laugh at his expense for a moment, and even joined in.

"I was getting pretty good at art too. I'd won some local competitions. Then the summer between my junior and senior years, I entered some work in a big regional competition. And I won. The prize was a full two year scholarship to Columbian College."

"Columbian – that's George Washington University?" Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, their liberal arts college. And it was perfect! Mom never told me much detail – for reasons I didn't know yet – but she did say my dad had been on the DC force. Now I had a chance to go to college there. I had it all planned out. A major in criminal justice, minor in art. I had no idea how I was going to pay for the last two years, but that didn't matter. I got the scholarship package at school, and I couldn't wait to show her. I was just about bursting at the seams by the time she got home from work. I mean, she was going to be so excited, so proud of me…"

"I'm guessing her reaction wasn't quite what you expected," Peter said softly.

That got a short, sharp laugh from Neal. "You could say that. She looked worried, almost scared. She shoved the papers back in the envelope and just said we'd talk about it later." He drained his glass, nodding his thanks as Mozzie refilled it. "When I got home from school the next day, she was there, which was kind of unusual; she was usually still at work. And there were two men sitting at the table with her."

"Marshals?" Peter guessed.

"Yeah. They explained the whole witness protection thing – though they were very vague on what she had testified about. Once someone was settled in a new place, with a new identity, the marshals usually checked in twice a year, so they weren't much of a presence by the time I was old enough to know what was going on. Anyway, they said that if I wanted to remain part of the program, I'd have to stay in the St. Louis area. But, since I wasn't actually a witness to anything, my other option was that they would set me up with a new identity that couldn't be traced back to my mom or Lisa, and I could go anywhere."

"I bet your mom wanted you to stay," Elizabeth said.

"Actually, she said it was my choice, and the marshals said that there could be arrangements made so we could see each other sometimes. I didn't want to leave like that, but… I just… I wanted what that scholarship represented so badly."

Peter nodded slowly. "Probably kind of like getting drafted was something that meant so much to me."

"It was a validation of what I did, so, yeah. The marshals said they would take care of getting me a new grade transcript in my new name, and they could get the scholarship switched over. They even said I could help pick my new name."

"So that's when 'Neal Caffrey' was born?"

Neal grinned. "Exactly. I knew a few things about my family. My mom's maiden name was O'Neal. My dad's name was George. And one time when I was at Ellen's, I saw some old newspaper clippings she wasn't supposed to have kept, about an Officer Caffrey. She said it was her former name, and I just figured she meant a maiden name. But those were the three most important people in my life. Well, my sister too, but I couldn't keep any part of the WitSec name."

Peter leaned back, taking a long pull on his beer. "At least I finally understand why I couldn't find anything on you before then."

Neal just shrugged at that. "At the time, I had no idea how helpful that would turn out to be."

"But I'm guessing that you never made it to Columbian," Elizabeth said.

"Nope, never even made it through the rest of high school." Neal drained his glass, and accepted a refill from another bottle that Mozzie had brought out. "It was my eighteenth birthday. I got home from school and found two things. One was a package from the marshals with my new ID, and all the documents. And the other was from the academy that trained recruits for the DC police force. I hadn't told anyone, but I'd taken an aptitude test – scored in the ninety-eighth percentile, if you can believe that. And they sent information on a civilian volunteer program that I could sign up for, get some experience."

"Everything you'd ever wanted," Peter said softly.

Neal nodded. "Exactly – all of it, right in my hand. My mom and Lisa were gone for a few days, on a Girl Scout retreat. So I went to Ellen, all excited. Except it was just like telling my mom about the scholarship all over again."

"Ellen knew what it meant if you went to that academy."

"Yeah. When I'd talked about being a cop before, she thought I meant staying in St. Louis, which would have been fine. But my dad's case was apparently quite the case study at the academy back east. And there would still be a lot of people on the force who might remember Ellen Caffrey."

Elizabeth had picked up the photo of George Carmody again. "Plus, you look so much like your dad."

"That too. So, she finally told me the truth." Neal paused, staring down at his hands. "Everything I'd ever wanted, right in front of me, and then it was just gone."

"So what'd you do?"

"I went home and packed a bag. The next morning I emptied my savings account – not exactly a fortune – and I left. I wound up in Chicago. Eighteen, no real plan, not much money, not even an actual high school diploma. My work experience consisted mostly of being a lifeguard at a community center, and hustling pool only works for so long. I spent a lot of time on the streets, picking up life skills. When Paddy taught me to pick pockets, it was easy. I told myself I'd just do it when I was desperate to eat. And I only picked people downtown in thousand dollar suits who could afford to lose a few dollars. Then I started my first con, and I told myself it was because it was winter in Chicago, and I needed a roof over my head. But all of it just came so easily, and I started to like it."

"The rush of the con," Peter supplied.

Neal nodded. "Pretty much."

"Did you ever try to contact your mom again?" Elizabeth asked.

"I went back to St. Louis that next spring. A few months on my own, a lot of it starving and freezing, and I wasn't quite so angry anymore. But our house was empty, and there was someone else in Ellen's apartment."

"They got moved by the marshals?"

"Yeah. The way I left, not knowing where I was – it was too dangerous for them to stay there. I finally went back to Chicago, then Miami, and then Europe. Eventually made it to New York and, well, you know that part of the story."

"But you knew how to find Ellen," Peter pointed out.

"Growing up, we'd played a couple of games. Well, I thought they were games then, but they were actually serious. One game was about how quickly you could pack up, and what the minimum was you'd need to start a new life."

"I imagine that would be useful if the men your mom testified against found you," Elizabeth suggested.

"Probably came in handy in later years too, for different reasons," Peter grumbled.

"Being ready to move on a moment's notice is an extremely useful skill for any number of reasons," Mozzie insisted.

"It has been useful," Neal admitted. "Ellen also had a game about setting up a message system, in case you were separated from someone. After I got to Miami, I decided to try it, see if it was more than a game. She answered, so we stayed in touch. I hadn't actually seen her again until a couple of months ago though."

Peter leaned his elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of him. "So how does this tie into what Kramer wanted you for?"

Mozzie tossed a visual aid onto the table and answered with one word. "Bait."

Peter picked up the fishing hook, rolling it in his fingers. "He thought you might be able to help him find your father."

"I think he wanted to use me to try and draw my father out."

Peter was still sorting all the thoughts roiling in his mind, trying to make sense of things. "So Kramer knew who you were?"

"Well, he knew _Neal Caffrey_, but I don't think he knew I was Nick Carmody until we actually met when you brought him to New York…"

Peter sighed. "To try and catch you on the U-boat treasure."

"Well, yeah." Neal gestured to the documents he'd laid out. "There's nothing in his history to show that he paid any real attention to me before. I mean, he'd pull my file when there was a certain type of theft…"

"Like someone who left chocolate medallions at the Smithsonian?"

Neal smiled and shrugged. "At least he associated me with high-class jobs."

Elizabeth reached over and tapped the photo of Neal's father again. "And he never recognized you?"

"My file had a few surveillance photos, but none of them were real clear."

Peter held up his hand. "Wait, you've been pulling your own file too?"

"That may fall under attorney-client privilege," Mozzie said.

Neal just grinned. "I got access to all of my files when Fowler set me up for the diamond heist, remember?"

"Right."

"And you know how I told you I never liked my mug shot?"

Peter nodded. "I remember."

"Well, it really doesn't do me justice. And I don't think Kramer had put it all together until we actually met." He passed over the last few documents from his folder. "That same night, he put in a request for my full prison file. And two days later – while we were working the Degas case – he requested an opinion from Justice on whether my release terms could be altered."

"To make him the supervising agent," Peter guessed.

"Exactly. And then, well, everything with Keller…"

"Which somehow led to the possibility of your sentence being commuted," Peter supplied.

"Yeah." Neal pointed to one of the documents. "His inquiries picked up in urgency after that."

"If you got the commutation, he'd lose that hold over you." Peter sighed and pushed the paper away, accidentally sending his empty beer bottle tumbling.

Neal caught the bottle in mid-spin and got to his feet. "Right. I mean, I honestly didn't want to go anywhere. But I could have just said 'no' to DC without the sentence hanging over my head."

Peter waited until Neal came back with a fresh bottle before continuing. "You still had almost two years left on your escape sentence. But Kramer was trying to get you tied to him for a lot longer."

"Remember, there's no record of George Carmody since he got out of prison. It's like he disappeared."

"So no guarantee he'd be found in two years."

"Peter, I didn't even know what my dad's actual case was, or what his sentence was, or where he was incarcerated until just a few days ago. I found out now that he was actually released from Hazelton about two weeks after you arrested me the first time. But as far as I know, I haven't seen my father for over thirty years. I don't think there's any guarantee that, even if he found out that Kramer had me, he'd actually come out of hiding."

Mozzie had pulled a laptop over and he turned a screen toward Peter. "Kramer has had inter-agency alerts out for Neal's father ever since he was released from Hazelton. The alerts get renewed every six months, like clockwork."

Elizabeth had been studying some of the documents and she looked up with a question. "How did you manage to find all of this?"

"Sally?" Peter guessed.

"We can neither confirm nor deny," Mozzie replied.

Peter just smiled. "Well, if you happen to figure out who it is, tell her thanks for getting the message to me."

"Should this person's identity become known to me… I'll consider that."

Neal had pulled the laptop over and was looking at the e-mails from Sherwood. "Kramer's CI keeps saying that his new crime was a set-up."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. In several he begs Kramer to stop opposing his parole, and promises to keep quiet about what he knows."

"Makes you wonder what it is he knows."

"Sure does. I'm going to try and get there when I get home, see if he'll talk to me."

Neal pushed the laptop aside and studied Peter's face. "How bad is Kramer making it for you?"

"So far, just a lot of repetitious questions. But he's not going to just let it go." He gestured at all of the papers on the table. "After seeing this, if you're right, I guess I can understand why."

"I'm sorry, Peter. I know he's your friend."

"Well, I _thought_ he was. This is not the Philip Kramer I knew."

Neal sighed and looked down. "And I'm a forger…"

"No, Neal, I don't think you're making any of this up. I knew something was wrong when Kramer was so insistent on taking you away – and making it permanent. I mean, the ninety-four percent conviction rate with you is great, but it didn't explain his interest."

"Still, I'm sorry. I understand what it means when what you believe gets yanked away."

Thinking about everything Neal had just said, Peter knew that was true. "I guess you do."

"So, what next?"

"I need some time to look through all of this, think about it. Can I take these copies?"

Neal nodded, and Mozzie laid a mini-flash drive on the table. "Everything's on here."

Peter pocketed the drive and then leaned back in his chair, raising his beer. "So, other than being on the run, how's life in Belize."

Neal matched the pose. "It's a tropical paradise. It's just not… home."


	8. Convergence

They still had three full days left in Belize. Peter and Elizabeth were determined to make the most of it – both because it covered their real reason for being in the country, and because when they went back they knew they were in for a fight, and might not have a lot of time for each other.

They booked another Mozart Charters trip (though Peter complained about possibly being charged a higher than normal fee). Neal took them on a snorkeling tour of the inner reef, revealing a brand new world of colorful fish and coral just under the surface of the sea.

They had a portrait done by an artist in Market Square. And they enjoyed island food and libations at the Blue Oasis…

The owner of said cantina seemed quite friendly with the market artist, which generated a certain amount of friendly ribbing directed toward the artist.

Said artist generally just smiled and deflected, which simply generated more ribbing.

When the time finally came to take the water taxi back to the mainland, and a flight home, there was a good deal of hugging.

And Peter found that he had no answer to the artist's question of whether there was a way that he could ever come home…

* * *

'_There's no sign of Caffrey in Paris. The Ellington woman is just going from gallery to gallery.'_

Philip Kramer sighed and got up, closing his office door. "That sounds like something right up Caffrey's alley. You're sure he's not skulking in one of the galleries?"

'_I've got his picture out to all the contacts I can find here. No one has seen him since before he went to prison.'_

"No one _admits_ to having seen him."

'_I've made it quite clear that cooperation is in their best interests.'_

"Anything from your contacts in Hong Kong?"

'_The Ellis woman has been spending almost all of her time at the local Sterling-Bosch office. There's been no sign of her meeting anyone matching Caffrey's description. Have you heard from Belize?'_

Kramer sank back down into the chair behind his desk. "Apparently the Burkes spent a relaxing vacation there, soaking up the local sights. But Petey can be slippery, as I have reason to know. I'm still not convinced he didn't meet up with Caffrey."

'_Want me to head there next?'_

"Yes, Agent Alphonse, I think that would be a very good idea. Call me back when you have your travel arrangements."

Kramer hung up the phone and swiveled his chair to look out the window. It was so frustrating to have been so close to getting Caffrey under his control, only to have the man pull another disappearing act. And his gut was telling him – no, fairly _screaming_ at him – that his former protégé was involved. It was just a matter of proving it.

He turned back to the desk and picked up the phone again. It was time to take the investigation to the next, official, stage. He'd get the ball rolling, and then make his own travel plans back to New York.

* * *

"Anything, Moz?"

Mozzie tossed his hat onto an empty chair and sat down at the table with Neal. "Nothing new, _mon frère._ I really think Joseph Sherwood may hold the key."

"No contacts at Hazelton?"

"West Virginia is not exactly within my normal base of operations."

"We need to know what Sherwood found that scared Kramer so much."

"The demon-Suit has spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring that his former CI doesn't make parole."

"Yeah, for something he probably didn't even do in the first place."

"Neal, I know you feel a need to fix things – a quality I blame the Suit for expanding exponentially in you, by the way. But unless you are seriously looking to spend the next millennium in a box and enjoying an intimate relationship with your right hand, we really need to be thinking about moving on."

"I am thinking about it, Moz." Neal waited while the server brought a margarita and set it in front of Mozzie; they didn't even need to order any more here. Of course, since the Blue Oasis made a fantastic margarita with fresh lime juice, having one simply appear was a good thing. When the server moved away again, he leaned over the table. "I can't just run out until I know Peter's all right through all of this."

Mozzie took a moment to squeeze his lime wedge into the drink. "And of course if you can take Kramer down at the same time, so much the better."

"He's dirty, Moz."

"I agree. But how much are you willing to risk?"

"I don't want to run again, Moz."

"Understood. I even understand why you felt the need to bring the Suit here… and it was good to see Mrs. Suit. But no matter how careful we were, the trip has to be making Kramer and his fugitive dogs suspicious."

Neal drained his own margarita and nodded. "I know. What are you thinking?"

"I have Hector arranging the sale of a few more small pieces – enough to buy silence, and set a new and even more confusing web of rumors as to your location."

"Well, no sense not being prepared."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Anything from Sally on getting into the U.S. Marshals' database?"

"Not yet, but I'm chatting with her later tonight. I'll get an update."

"Good."

"And your plans for the evening?"

"Luna's off in about an hour. It's a full moon, we were going to take the boat out for a bit."

"Very romantic. Pack your _go_ bag when you get back, just in case."

"Right."

* * *

Peter stood on the sidewalk, staring up at his front door. He wasn't really even sure how much time had passed, and it wasn't until he was jostled for the third time by passersby trying to actually _use_ the walk that he roused himself, opened the gate, and slowly climbed the steps.

_This was ridiculous, it was his own house…_

He unlocked the door, noting that the security system was off; Elizabeth must be home. Normally that would be a good thing, but today he'd really been hoping that she would be out late working on an event.

"Peter? You're home early!"

_Yeah, she was definitely home…_ "Hi, hon," he replied, avoiding the unspoken question about why he was early.

Elizabeth came down the stairs, a happy bounce to her steps. "What's the occasion?"

_Of course she'd be curious…_

He took a deep breath, and decided to just get it out in the open. "I've been suspended."

That stopped her cold, three steps before the bottom. "What? Why?"

"An official investigation into Neal's disappearance."

She floated down those last few steps, her hand folding into his. "Oh, Peter. What does that mean?"

"Kramer's called a hearing for next Tuesday."

"Does that mean he has new evidence?"

"I don't see how. I really knew nothing about how Neal was getting out of the country initially."

"But Kramer knows we went to Belize."

"True, but we were careful. If anyone knows about staying below the radar, it's Neal and Mozzie. I think this is just another fishing expedition on Kramer's part."

"I can't believe we actually had that man here, in our house. And he called himself your friend."

"Well, knowing what we do now…"

"But you still don't have a way to prove any of it?"

Peter shook his head, shrugging out of his suit coat. "No. And I can't even bring any of what Neal and Mozzie found up at the hearing. It certainly wasn't obtained legally – and it would just raise more questions about how I got the information."

"So what are you going to do?"

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. "Right now, I'm going to hug my gorgeous, brilliant wife. Then I'm going to take her out to dinner."

"And when we get home we'll strategize."

_And that's why he loved his wife so very much…_

* * *

Laszlo Alphonse stepped outside of the Belize City airport and paused, taking time to adjust his sunglasses against the tropical brightness. It also gave him time to identify the watchers. And they were there, just as he had suspected. And that was fine – when it was time, they might have some contacts to the greyer side of life in Belize.

Contacts he could use to track down his prey.

For now, he casually hailed a taxi, and asked to be taken to the waterfront. From there, he would catch the water taxi to Ambergris Caye and San Pedro.

If that's where Burke spent his time, that was definitely the place to start.

* * *

Neal knew they were there, just at the edge of his peripheral vision. But he was almost finished with the sketch he was working on, and doing his best to follow the rather convoluted family vacation story his customers were telling him.

He put the finishing touches on the sketch, accepted his payment, and a generous tip, exchanged the expected pleasantries, and waved the happy young couple on their way.

Then he casually made his way toward the fountain, where Mozzie and Hector were waiting.

Mozzie held out his phone as Neal approached. "Recognize him?"

Unfortunately, Neal did. "That's the Fugitive Retrieval agent Peter told me about. I take it he's here?"

Hector nodded. "My men say he checked into the Paradiso this afternoon. And he's asking questions."

"You need to lay low for a few days," Mozzie warned.

That elicited a sigh, and a reluctant nod. "I'll stay away from the market. But I'm still doing the diving charters."

Mozzie apparently accepted that as a practical compromise, because he nodded in agreement. "That's reasonable."

"I have a couple of other men I can put on this agent," Hector said. "Your recent payment was most generous."

"Thanks, Hector." Mozzie pressed a few more bills into the man's hand as they shook. "Much appreciated."

Neal watched as Hector walked away, and then turned to Mozzie. "What do you think?"

"The message I got from June this morning, via Sally, mentioned seeing someone matching this guy's description following her in Paris."

"And Sara?"

"She was followed, but by locals."

"And now Alphonse is here, following Peter's trail. At least they're being very thorough."

"But if he actually knew anything, he would have come to the square, looking for a sketch artist."

"Yeah, he's just playing a hunch."

"Still, keeping you out of sight for a few days is a good plan."

"Is he showing the mug shot around?"

Mozzie nodded. "Fortunately, the lighter hair and the beard make you pretty hard to recognize from that photo."

"I might have to start liking it after all."

"I'll take the scooter for the next few days, and leave the runabout for you. If you come into the docks by water, it'll be much harder for him to get a glimpse of you." Mozzie paused, with a long-suffering sigh. "And I know it's too much to expect that you'll just stay hidden."

"You've already got the charters booked," Neal pointed out. "Canceling them would raise red flags too."

Apparently Mozzie conceded that point, because he just nodded.

"Don't worry, Moz. I'll be careful."

* * *

It happened like this, and for the best of intentions.

The men hired by Hector to follow the FBI agent weren't the brightest bulbs on the tree, but they weren't stupid either. And they were ambitious, wanting to prove their worth to the man they saw as being able to provide a bright future for them.

It wasn't hard to figure out that Hector liked the two men known to the locals as Bob and Victor. In fact, everyone seemed to like Bob and Victor – or Vic, as he preferred to be called. They were friendly, they supported the local businesses, and they paid extremely well when they needed something done.

What was not to like?

Still, the scuttlebutt was that the two men might not be staying long. No one really knew where that rumor came from, but everyone agreed it was probably the case.

Hector, on the other hand, wasn't going anywhere. His family had been in San Pedro for three generations. If you didn't mess with him, he didn't mess with you. If Hector was your friend, he was your friend through thick and thin.

If he wasn't your friend… well, you probably didn't have to worry about that for very long.

So, if Hector liked Vic and Bob, and you wanted Hector to like you, it only followed that you did whatever you could to help Vic and Bob. And if an agent from the American FBI came here looking for Vic and Bob, you didn't want the agent to find them.

Miguel and Lloyd made something of an odd pair – one tall and dark, the other short and blond. But they were in agreement about one thing, and that was their desire to be seen as valuable to Hector.

Making sure the FBI agent didn't find Vic and Bob was their perfect opportunity.

Something else that everyone knew about Hector was that he hated the drug trade. More specifically, he hated Rueben Santiago, who had brought some of that business to touch on Hector's beloved San Pedro.

No one should mess with Hector.

So, Hector wanted his island free of the filth brought in by Santiago, and he wanted to protect Bob and Vic from the FBI agent. Therefore, why not let slip to the FBI agent that the men he sought were being given safe haven by the drug lord. If Santiago killed the agent, that would bring the full force of the police down on Santiago – and take any attention away from Hector.

It was a perfect plan.

And even though Miguel and Lloyd knew that Hector liked to be apprised of any major plans, and give his approval ahead of time, this just seemed too good to pass up.

They made sure the FBI agent heard the rumors about the southern-most Caye where Santiago was rumored to be harboring two Americans…

* * *

It wasn't the first time he'd been without a badge, though at least the last time he'd had Neal to help plan a delicious sting to take down Julian Larssen and bring them one step closer to Vincent Adler. And the time before that he'd had the satisfaction of having bloodied Fowler's lip first.

Now, he had long days to watch ESPN, a happy Satchmo who liked having one of his humans home more, and an endless supply of questions he couldn't do anything about.

Peter sighed and picked up the remote, flicking idly through the channels again. But his mind was miles away.

With all of his newly free time, he'd considered a drive to West Virginia. But Joseph Sherwood had refused the visitor request, and without a badge, Peter had no other way in. Jones and Diana were undoubtedly being watched more closely than normal because of him, and Peter wouldn't do anything more to put their careers at risk. And, of course, it was too dangerous to try and pass a message to Sherwood about the real reason – the real _need_ – for the visit.

Satchmo was at the back door whining and, with another sigh, Peter got to his feet. He grabbed his keys and the leash, hooked the lead onto the collar of one very excited dog, and headed outside.

Maybe a nice, long walk with his dog was just what he needed.

* * *

Miguel and Lloyd were in a good mood when they came out of the little dive bar down by the docks. And why not? Their plan was underway, which would free them up for the next job Hector would assign them.

They weren't quite prepared for the sight of Hector standing outside the bar, waiting.

Hector shook his head slowly. "I set you one simple job – watch the American agent – and yet here I find you drinking."

Lloyd gave his partner a conspiratorial wink and stepped forward to answer to Hector. "Well, mate, we took care of the agent. You see…"


	9. Hell's Hole

Hector was waiting as the _Miss Sally_ pulled into dock after another successful run to the Blue Hole. He stepped forward as the boat came in, accepting the ropes thrown over by Vic. Then he helpfully assisted the happy tourists off, smiling all the way.

But when the customers had walked off toward town, his smile disappeared as he turned back to Bob and Vic. "There's a problem."

Neal was scanning the dock area, looking for anything out of place. "Is Alphonse getting too close?"

Hector shook his head. "No, just the opposite. Two of my men sent him to Hell's Hole, said that you were rumored to be hiding there."

"What?"

Hector shrugged. "It was not on my orders."

Mozzie took Neal's arm and steered him away a few feet. "We had nothing to do with this. Maybe it's best to just let it play out."

"Moz, Hell's Hole is Santiago's base. If he finds a fed snooping around…" Neal shook his head. "If Alphonse is found dead, or even if he just disappears, you know it'll bring more attention of the kind we don't need."

Mozzie nodded. "True. But finding someone willing to go in there after him might not be easy."

Neal stared out at the water for a moment, running a hand through his hair, and then turned back to Hector. "How long ago?"

"The FBI man left about thirty minutes ago. A fast boat would catch him."

"I have a fast boat, if someone was willing to come along."

Hector nodded. "My men caused this. I'll go. Do you want guns?"

"No, the idea is to get Alphonse out without a shootout. Besides, it would take an army to handle Santiago that way. We just need to go fast and try to catch him."

Hector gave a quick two-fingered salute before heading up toward the street. "I have the jeep ready. We'll go get your boat."

Mozzie caught Neal's arm just as he turned to follow. "You are not seriously thinking of going yourself."

"We don't have time to go recruiting, Moz."

"Neal, you're the one he's looking for!"

"I know. I'll come up with a plan on the way."

"I knew it. The dive was too long, and your brain was oxygen-deprived."

"It'll be fine, Moz. But this does probably mean our days here are numbered."

"I'll have everything ready for a quick departure when you get back."

* * *

Neal's cigarette boat was _very_ fast. But apparently the boat Alphonse rented wasn't too terribly slow – or maybe he'd had a bit more of a head start than Miguel and Lloyd had admitted to.

Either way, the rental boat was already approaching the dock when Neal and Hector got into visual range.

While Hector studied the apparently deserted dock area with high-powered binoculars, Neal tried to coax just a little more speed out of the powerful engines. Because they both understood how appearances could be deceiving at Hell's Hole.

* * *

Alphonse brought the boat in toward the dock, bumping against the structure several times as he tried to perfect the maneuver.

_Yeah, driving a power boat had never been much of a needed skill growing up on the hard streets of Detroit. _

He finally got both the front and the back of the boat close enough so he could shut the power down, Then he quickly tossed a mooring rope over one of the dock posts.

Everything seemed quiet as he studied the area. There were some shipping containers stacked haphazardly near the dock, making it hard to see much. From a logistical standpoint, not a good situation to walk into. And even though the file Kramer had given him said that Caffrey was non-violent, being on the run could make people do strange things. He also wasn't totally convinced by the assertion of no defenses on the island he'd heard from the two men who had referred him here.

With that thought in mind, Alphonse drew his gun as he stepped off the boat and onto the dock. He moved slowly forward, checking around each container carefully as he went. But there wasn't even any sign of life…

Until the gunfire erupted from the cover of the trees twenty yards in front.

* * *

The sound of gunfire carried easily over the water to the men on the approaching boat.

_Shit._

Motioning for Hector to come and take the wheel, Neal grabbed the binoculars and focused on the dock area…

Just in time to see the figure he assumed to be Alphonse jerk and then fall to the ground.

_Double shit._

So much for the plan he'd been formulating on the way over – the nice, relatively safe one about buzzing Alphonse's boat, giving the man just a fleeting glimpse of the fugitive he sought, and then making a run away from Hell's Hole.

Mozzie would have had a fit about that plan anyway.

_So he didn't even want to think what the other man would make of the plan he was concocting now._

It was crazy; Neal could admit that to himself. It was also dangerous, possibly even suicidal depending on the number of gunmen on the island, their level of skill, and their willingness to take risks of their own. And, of course, right now he didn't even know if Alphonse was alive.

_And, damn it, he wished he could get Peter's voice about doing what was right out of his head…_

He and Hector did have a couple of things going for them. Santiago used cigarette boats for his drug running, so their approach probably wouldn't raise too much suspicion; in fact, the gunmen might think they were getting help. Another thing they had going for them was that no one would believe anyone was crazy to challenge Santiago like this. Finally, the boat had a very shallow draft, which meant they could pull into the small side dock very near shore…

And also, quite happily, near where Alphonse had fallen.

The better news now was that the agent, while still on the ground, had managed to pull himself up next to one of the containers and was trying to return fire. At least knowing the man was alive made this worthwhile.

Using mostly hand signals, because their speed made it too noisy to use words, Neal pointed toward the side dock, and Hector nodded, steering that way.

* * *

Alphonse hit the release on his gun, letting the empty cartridge fall away. His hands were shaking as he reached under his jacket for a spare clip, and as he struggled to load it, he could see that his hand was covered in blood.

_Yeah, so much for Caffrey being non-violent. Apparently he'd at least surrounded himself with violent people._

He finally managed to get the clip in, and a round chambered. A deep breath…

_And damn but that hurt, and it was almost as though he could feel the hole in his side ripping open even further._

He was vaguely aware of a boat approaching, but there wasn't much he could do about it. With any luck maybe it would distract the men shooting at him. Then maybe he could get back to his boat…

Except he wasn't really sure he could move that far.

He was just trying to move enough to shoot around his cover when suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Alphonse turned with a jerk, sure that he needed to find a way, somehow, to defend himself – and found himself, instead, looking into the bluest eyes.

"Caffrey!"

The other man nodded quickly, already reaching for Alphonse's gun. "I suggest we save introductions until later. Much later, after I have my sanity checked for being here."

"I don't understand."

Caffrey either didn't hear him, or just chose not to answer. And a moment later both men were distracted by the sound of a boat engine revving. Glancing toward the nearest dock, Alphonse watched as a cigarette boat completed the process of turning around, the bow pointed out to sea.

And then Caffrey moved around him, toward the corner of the container providing cover against the sporadic gunfire still aimed their way. "All right, I'm going to return fire, hopefully get these guys to take cover. And then we're going for the boat. Do you have another clip?"

Maybe it was the stress of being pinned down, or the pain from his wound, or the blood loss making him woozy, but Alphonse found himself handing over a full clip. "Last one."

_And no one else on the fugitive retrieval force had better ever find out about this…_

Alphonse watched through a haze of pain as Caffrey took a couple of deep breaths and then rolled around the corner. There were a number of rapid shots, a quick change of clips, a few more shots.

And then Caffrey was on his feet, pulling Alphonse up. "Time to go."

Alphonse tried to help, he really did. But he wasn't sure that he was really able to make much of a difference. Still, somehow, they crossed the ground toward the dock. He tumbled into the well of the boat, even as more gunfire erupted around them. And then he felt the powerful engines revving underneath him, the spray of the water as the boat lifted up, speeding away from the island.

But that was the last thing he was aware of before he passed out.

* * *

"That was really dumb, Neal. Really, really dumb. Oh, and did I mention REALLY DUMB?"

"Actually, you might have. What would you have had me do?"

"Well, _not_ go running into Santiago's stronghold, for one thing."

Alphonse had been vaguely aware of the voices around him for a few minutes. Now the world seemed to come back into a somewhat fuzzy focus as he forced his eyes open. There was a shorter, balding man with thick glasses, and a taller man, wavy brown hair. The man who had pulled him out of harm's way.

_Neal Caffrey._

"Santiago? As in the drug lord?" And man, that didn't even sound like his voice at all, but the words must have been audible anyway because the two men turned toward him.

"Yeah, Rueben Santiago. He's taken over that island as part of his operation." Caffrey came toward him, stopping a few feet away. "How are you feeling?"

Alphonse took a moment to take stock before answering. "Like I've had the shit kicked out of me. But alive, thanks to you, I guess. Assuming you weren't the one…"

Neal shook his head. "No, I had nothing to do with you being sent there. Drug running is definitely not my thing. That's why I went after you when I found out you'd been pointed that way."

"At total risk to his own life, I might point out," the shorter man said. "Not to mention against all possible common sense."

"Bob here prefers that I keep a quieter profile, especially being on the run," Neal said, an amused smile on his face.

The other man, Bob – probably not his real name – crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Hmmmmph. I prefer you keep an _alive_ profile."

"Well, fortunately, I am still alive, Bob."

Alphonse tried to shift his body, and quickly decided that was a bad idea. He let his head fall back against the pillows underneath him, trying to take stock of his surroundings by just moving his eyes. He was in a bed, in what looked like it might be a hotel room. But it definitely wasn't _his_ hotel room in San Pedro. "I assume you know who I am."

Neal took another step toward the bed and picked up something that looked a lot like an FBI credential case from a small table. "Special Agent Laszlo Alphonse, FBI. Fugitive Retrieval unit, I believe. You came here looking for me."

"And yet you risked your life to pull my butt out of the fire."

"A dead FBI agent doesn't fit well with my plans, or my conscience."

Alphonse nodded slowly. "I appreciate it. So where am I?"

"Off the coast of Belize. This is a private island, and a private hotel that's closed until the winter season."

"Am I a prisoner?"

Neal shook his head as he pulled a chair up and sat down. "Let's say you'll be a guest here for a few days while you recover."

"A guest, on a private island. Alone?"

"There's been a doctor here. She cleaned up your wound, stitched you up. You'll be happy to know that, despite the blood loss, it wasn't too serious."

"Are you staying to nurse me through these few days?"

"Actually, we're waiting for a nurse to arrive, and then we'll be gone."

"Yeah, _long_ gone," Bob muttered.

"Didn't you have some arrangements to make, Bob?" Neal asked, glancing at the door.

"Right. Arrangements. To be _gone._"

Alphonse watched 'Bob' leave the room, and then turned his attention back to his quarry – to the man who had saved his life. "I don't understand you, Caffrey. I had nothing to prove you were even in Belize except a tip from two guys who probably work for Santiago and thought I was here for him."

"Actually, they work for a friend of mine, and were instructed to just follow you. Unfortunately, they took it upon themselves to alter the script a bit."

"Well, don't take this wrong, because I do appreciate that I'm still alive. But why? And why stick around now?"

"I told you, a dead FBI agent really wasn't in my plans. And I'll be gone soon enough."

"While I'm still here on the island. Stranded, I presume?"

"Well, since my boat is elsewhere, Bob and I will have to take the arriving boat back when the nurse gets here."

"That does kind of sound like I'm a prisoner here."

"I'd prefer that you think of it more as a period of safe recuperation."

"You're a strange one, Caffrey."

"You mean not all of your fugitive cases involve a non-violent white collar offender with one conviction for bond forgery to his name – and who had just worked for the FBI for two years?"

Alphonse considered the other man, and the question, for a long moment before answering. "No, I'd have to say you're unique in that regard. Most of my targets have a much more violent background. Maybe the fact that you didn't led me to be a little careless going to that island."

And apparently that was way too much talking under the circumstances, because all of a sudden he was coughing, and couldn't stop.

_And damn if Caffrey wasn't there, holding a cup with a straw for him…_

"Just take a few sips, slowly."

Alphonse tried to do as he was instructed, and the water helped, finally easing the coughing. He pulled his mouth off of the straw, nodding his thanks.

"Did you ever wonder what made me worth this assignment of yours, given your normal type of case?" Caffrey asked as he set the cup back on the bedside table.

Alphonse shook his head. "Not my call to make." _Though the question had crossed his mind privately._ "I just go where the bosses tell me."

Neal smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "It's a good thing Bob left. He'd have quite a lecture about the 'just following orders' defense."

"Look, I thought maybe it was just that you running made the Bureau look bad."

"The Bureau. Well, I was under the supervision of Peter Burke, so I guess he'd be the one to be embarrassed. Was he the one who gave you this assignment? Or even anyone from the New York office?"

"No, it was…

"Philip Kramer," Caffrey supplied, getting to his feet. "I have some reading material for you, Agent Alphonse. Something to help fill your convalescent time."

Alphonse watched as the other man retrieved a laptop and a file folder and brought them over. "What's all of this?"

"Hopefully something that might make you realize that questioning orders can sometimes be a good thing." Neal crouched down and plugged the power adapter for the laptop into a wall socket and then set the device on the bedside table. He put the folder on top. "I'm afraid the Wi-Fi has been disabled, so you won't be able to use this to charter transportation off the island."

"I suppose there's no phone service here either."

"It's been turned off until the owner returns in a few weeks."

"And my cell phone?"

"You know, it was a pretty bumpy ride on the way here from Hell's Hole. It's possible the phone went overboard."

"Uh huh. And my gun?"

"Now _that_ I'm sure I saw fall overboard at one point. Sorry about that."

"Right." Alphonse looked over at the table, noting the flash drive in one of the laptop's USB ports. "I take it you think there's something on there I'll find interesting?"

"Well, if you're still an FBI agent, and not just a bounty hunter, I think you might."

"You understand, right, that no matter what I might read, there's still a fugitive warrant out on you. If I don't check in, someone else will come."

"True. But the thing is, there's no record of 'Neal Caffrey' ever being in Belize. And very shortly now there won't be anyone matching his description here either."

"I hope you're not expecting me to lie when I get out of here."

"Not at all. But by the time you've recuperated and head back to San Pedro or the mainland, it really won't matter."

"And you're _sure_ I'm not a prisoner here?"

"I'm sure that you'll have medical attention, proper food, and access to the hotel facilities if you feel up to it. There are fresh clothes coming with the nurse. Angela is very good, and her brother is coming too to help with things. And in four days' time I promise that a boat will be here to take you to San Pedro."

"I guess I just have to take a con man's word for that."

"Maybe you could try taking the word of the man who saved your life."

Alphonse was considering that when Bob stuck his head in the door. "Neal, the boat's coming in."

"I'll be right there." Neal turned back to the agent. "Will you at least read what's in the files?"

"I'll read it. No guarantees beyond that."

"Well, it's a start." Neal refilled the water glass from a pitcher and set it close to the bed. "I wish I could say it had been a pleasure meeting you, Agent Alphonse. But to be honest, I would rather not have had the experience."

"I understand. I guess I'm kind of glad though, since it means I'm alive." He held out his hand. "Thank you."

After just a moment's hesitation, Neal extended his hand as well. "You're welcome." A light smile touched his lips before he continued, his eyes focused on their joined hands. "And I think your handcuffs might have gone overboard too, just in case you were wondering."

Alphonse actually laughed at that, though he quickly regretted it. "From what I understand, that might not have held you long anyway. And under the circumstances, I'm not really up to a chase."

"You will be again soon," Neal said, turning toward the door.

_Yeah, thanks to Caffrey he very well might be…_

Later, he'd chalk it up to blood loss, or maybe the pain medication he assumed the doctor had given him. Could have been that he was looking at the man who saved his life too. But Alphonse made a decision. "Caffrey, there's something you should know." He waited until the other man turned back, and then pointed at the laptop and the folder. "I'm guessing you figure there's some damning evidence against Kramer on there. If you're right, you should know you're not the only one he's going after."

That got Neal's attention. "Who?"

"He's called a formal hearing against Peter Burke, looking into whether Burke helped you escape."

The flash of anger in the blue eyes was evident, even from halfway across the room. "When?"

"I'm not sure. I just got a quick text from Kramer, shortly before I headed out to Hell's Hole. But probably soon."


	10. Moving Pieces

"Neal, do you have any idea how crazy this is?"

"I probably have some idea."

"But I mean certifiably, suicidally crazy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Moz. Now can I please have my toothbrush?"

Mozzie sighed and released his grip on the item in question. "All right, tell me again."

"Kramer's called a formal hearing against Peter."

"Yes, looking into whether or not the Suit helped you escape. He didn't. So why this insane urge to go back?"

Neal zipped up his toiletry kit, stuffing it into the duffel bag he was packing. "You know once Kramer gets a formal hearing called, he's not going to stop at that question."

"And the Suit won't lie."

"Not under oath, no."

"And you understand the consequences of going back."

"I do. Believe me, I understand."

"I hope you and your right hand are very happy in your little concrete box."

Neal sighed as he closed up the duffel. "I don't think 'happy' will be the word. But at least I'll be able to live with my conscience. I wouldn't be able to say that no matter where I went if I didn't try to help Peter."

"All right, tell me the plan again."

Neal picked up a business card from the bedside table and waved it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. "June gave me this card in the envelope she slipped me when I left."

"Her attorney, right?"

"Clive Lawson, Esquire. I called him from the cantina and he'll meet my flight in Atlanta. From there, we'll go to Bruceton Mills."

"The vacation capital of the world, I'm sure."

Neal ignored the sarcasm and continued. "Clive is filing the paperwork for a legal representation visit with Joseph Sherwood. We need to find out what he knows, Moz."

"With the final goal of shutting Kramer down."

"Shutting him down for good."

"And you're _sure _Lawson can't do this alone?"

"It's not like I could tell him everything over the phone."

"And what if Kramer tries to go after Lawson?"

"He's my attorney, so he can't be made to testify. And if Kramer tips to the plan before we have the information from Sherwood, we'll just say Clive was arranging my surrender."

"So let's say whatever you get from Sherwood is truly explosive. Why not just send it with Lawson and clear out?"

Neal sighed as he pulled his sport coat on. "I have to go back to New York, Moz. I can't keep running. And this all started with me."

"No, it started with your dad."

"Well, sins of the father and all. I need to finish it."

"You were less aggravating before you discovered a conscience, you know."

Neal grinned as he picked up his bag and moved toward the door. "Evolution, I guess." He stopped in the kitchen and picked up an envelope from the counter. "I signed the bungalow over to Luna."

Mozzie took the envelope and nodded. "She'll appreciate it. And… she was good for you."

"Very good."

"Did you say goodbye?"

"I didn't say the word, but we talked when I made the call. She understood. Will you see that she gets the deed?"

"Of course." Mozzie reached into his pocket and pulled something out. "Here, your emergency account. It's being funded as we speak. The money will be there before you land."

"Thanks." Neal slipped the bank card into his wallet. "What about you?"

"As discussed, I'll wait until the injured Suit is brought back here. Then I'll take your boat to Honduras, and on from there."

"And the charter business?"

"Paolo will run it. He's been an apt student."

"We did meet some good people here."

"Indeed. I had hoped this stop would last a little longer."

"And it might have – if Kramer hadn't turned out to be so dirty."

"True. Look, you've got the contact info for Sally, right?"

Neal tapped his temple. "Got it right up here."

"She'll be able to pass anything on to me. If you need me to come…"

"No reason for you to get caught up in this, Moz. But it's been a good run, hasn't it?"

"The best."

"Any regrets about upgrading partners all those years ago?"

"Only one – that I couldn't stop the afore-mentioned conscience from sprouting."

Neal laughed softly. "You can't win them all. Maybe you'll have better luck with your next partner."

"How could I work with another partner when I've already worked with the best?" Mozzie all but whispered.

"Moz…"

"I refuse to believe this is our final chapter, Neal."

"All right. I always hate the final chapter of a good book anyway."

"Anything else you need now?"

Neal smiled as he stepped a little closer. "Just one thing," he said, as he wrapped his arms around his oldest friend. And despite his fear of germs, and other assorted paranoias that usually made Mozzie shy away from close contact, the other man was returning the hug just as hard.

They stayed like that for a long moment, and another, and then Neal finally pulled away slowly. He picked up his bag again and turned toward the door. "Until the next chapter, Moz."

* * *

Peter leaned forward on the couch, sorting through the papers strewn across his coffee table. He was still suspended, and one day away from the start of the hearing Kramer had engineered.

_He had to wonder what kind of 'evidence' his old mentor was concocting…_

It hadn't been easy, but he had managed to pass on some of what Neal and Mozzie had found. With its rather dubious origins, it couldn't be used directly. But if they could independently corroborate some of the information, _that_ could be used.

And Reese Hughes had dropped off a thick file the night before.

He'd also brought the news that Joseph Sherwood had an attorney visit booked, but wasn't accepting any other visitors. And due to confidentiality restrictions, the name of the attorney wasn't available.

_It was just damn strange, since there was no apparent record of an attorney of record for Sherwood for the last few years…_

In any event, Peter had had to give up on West Virginia.

_For now anyway._

He wished he had a way to contact Sally, so that she could warn Neal and Mozzie. Of course, that could be dangerous too, because was he really ready to lie to the Bureau under oath?

Fortunately, he'd had two years of study with a master at deflection and partial answers. As much as Neal might have learned from Peter, Peter had learned from Neal as well.

But maybe there was still a way to pull together enough real evidence to stop Kramer in his tracks. He could only hope that something in this file would help.

* * *

Despite all of the possible disastrous scenarios Neal concocted in his mind on the flight to Atlanta, everything had gone smoothly. He sailed through immigration, giving silent thanks to the excellent passport Hector had set 'Jeffrey Simms' up with.

_It was too bad that the Vic Moreau ID was potentially compromised. He'd actually become rather fond of the name. Maybe it was the way Luna said Victor…_

Clive Lawson had been waiting outside the secured area at ATL, with a rental car at their disposal. From there it was only two hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, and a quick chartered flight from the municipal airport there to Morgantown, West Virginia. They'd stayed overnight there, poring over the documents Neal had brought with him.

And now, after half an hour in the car this morning, they were sitting in a consultation room at the Hazelton facility. 'Jeffrey Simms' had credentials showing that he was also an attorney with the firm of Caldwell, Banks & Lawson. To facilitate that, Clive had brought one of Neal's suits from June – a nice, three-piece navy pinstripe, with a silk navy and gold tie.

Combined with a shave and a quick haircut and he felt _right_ again.

The door to the inner secured area opened and Neal turned away from the window, watching as a man was led in. Dressed in institutional tan, the man was probably a couple of inches shorter than Neal, and, at a guess, about Peter's age. He was thin, balding…

_And his eyes had the sunken, hopeless look that Neal recognized all too well from the long-timers he'd known in prison._

The guard removed the handcuffs and stepped back. "You have twenty minutes," he said, moving to the door. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

Sherwood sank wearily down onto one of the chairs. "Look, I know I didn't hire you, so I assume it was my wife. Is she finally giving up, filing for divorce?"

And that was when he finally looked up, saw Neal, did a double take, and visibly paled beyond his already pasty prison pallor.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Mr. Sherwood," Neal said, trying to keep his tone light. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Tell me."

"George Carmody," Sherwood whispered. Then he continued, his voice a little stronger. "You're not him, of course. But you're just about the same age as when I first met him. Are you…"

"He's my father."

"My god, you're Nicky?"

It took all of Neal's considerable skill to avoid showing the level of shock he felt. "He… talked about me?"

"Oh yeah, a lot. And he had this picture of you, just a toddler, wearing his police hat."

_And Neal was picturing that same photo, the one Ellen had given him…_

"And now you're a lawyer."

Neal shook his head quickly, back to the task at hand. "Clive's a lawyer," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "We need to talk to you, about Philip Kramer."

The storm cloud was ominous as it passed over Sherwood's face. "That bastard," he hissed. "I never committed any armed robbery. He set me up. And he's opposed my parole every time I've come up for a hearing."

"I know a little something about Kramer's vindictiveness," Neal replied. "He's after me now, and he's trying to take a friend of mine down along the way. What is it that Kramer thinks you know?"

* * *

It took every ounce of energy he had left to make it up the stairs to his front door, get inside, and collapse onto the couch. He couldn't even muster the energy to return Satchmo's greeting.

Of course, Peter was well aware that it was emotional exhaustion much more than physical, but that didn't make it feel any less real. The fact that it was 'his side' – no, _his mentor_ – causing the exhaustion just made it that much worse.

The first day of the hearing had been as bad as he had feared. Kramer's inquisitors had literally taken every case Neal had worked on and grilled him over the case reports.

_Why had the anklet been removed? How did he justify allowing Caffrey to walk around with so much Bureau money? Why wouldn't normal investigative techniques have worked just as well instead of an elaborate sting?_

By the end of the day they had made it through the Degas case – when Neal had first come to Kramer's attention as something other than a legendary thief and conman.

_And Peter rued the day he had ever thought it was a good idea to bring his former mentor to New York…_

At least it had been a good spot to take a break. The hearing committee – the two OPR agents, Lloyd Howell and Robin Grant, and two section chiefs brought in from Quantico, Juliet Mathers and Lucius Toomey – seemed almost as exhausted as Peter.

Kramer was the only one who had wanted to keep going, but he was out-voted.

Fortunately, Peter had had answers for every question he was asked. If they were Neal's cases, they were also _his_ cases, and he knew what had happened. Kramer's assertions that the case reports read like pulp fiction were not proof, and Peter had pointed out, more than once, that truth could, indeed, be stranger than fiction.

_Especially with a free spirit like Neal Caffrey involved…_

Tomorrow would be a challenge though. If they stayed in chronological order, they'd be delving into the U-boat treasure and Matthew Keller. Keller's confession was as rock-solid as a lie could be, and Peter thought he had covered everything else well in the report – Keller had been desperate to get the treasure out of New York, and had kidnapped Elizabeth to force Peter and Neal to help him. Except for leaving out the facts about Neal and Mozzie actually having the treasure before that, it was actually very close to the truth.

_The best lies carry an element of truth._

He could hear Neal telling him that, back when the biggest problem in his life was making it through a long weekend with his in-laws.

With a sigh, Peter pulled himself to his feet, finally rewarding Satchmo with a good ear scratch. He opened the back door, letting the dog outside for a quick romp; maybe he'd feel up to taking Satch for a walk later.

For now, he retrieved a cold beer from the refrigerator, grabbed the copy of the Keller file from the table, and went to sit out on the small patio.

It wouldn't hurt to refresh his memory about the report he'd filed before tomorrow's grilling…

And he did have one more potential ace to play in the morning.


	11. New York

The first part of the task after they left the Hazelton facility was easy. Sherwood's brother-in-law owned a car dealership in Tyson's Corner, Virginia. It was where the former CI worked before his arrest and current conviction. Naturally, it had been searched after Sherwood had been accused of the armed robbery, and all of the employees questioned.

But something which had apparently gone unnoticed was that Bryce Lewis was also part-owner of a storage facility. The primary legal documents were under his partner's name, and the investigators hadn't discovered the connection.

Of course, with Kramer feeding them evidence, why would they look too closely.

Lewis loved his sister, Carol, who in turn loved her husband, and continued to believe in his innocence. So when two men showed up in his office at the dealership, armed with Sherwood's safe word and an assurance that they were trying to help his sister's husband, he gave them the access code to the outer gate and a key to the locker he'd kept up for Joseph.

Neal and Clive still had the rental car from Morgantown. It was true that Tyson's Corner was in the shadow of Washington Dulles airport. But it was also true that pushing security in the nation's capital would be a risk. Besides, taking time to arrange a charter, and then another car rental, would add up, and it was only three hours by car.

Channeling his inner 'Gary Rydell' alias, Neal had made the drive in a little over two hours. While he drove, Clive held on tight with one hand and called the car rental agency with the other, extending their time.

They had the information Lewis led them to within two hours after that.

The next part of their task was significantly harder, and required waiting until after dark for the bulk of it. In a quirk that Neal found oddly amusing, Philip Kramer's home address was in Burke, Virginia, which put him somewhere between the FBI training facility in Quantico and the main offices in DC proper.

They found the address easily thanks to the rental car's built-in GPS and drove around the neighborhood – casing it, according to Neal, and studying the locale, according to Clive. Then they found a hardware store, an electronics store, and a clothing store, all well away from Burke.

There was time to enjoy a leisurely dinner at a steakhouse, well away from areas with high concentrations of federal agents. Neal stuck to one glass of wine; he'd need his wits and his dexterity to do his work later.

Finally, shortly after midnight, the car rolled slowly through the quiet Burke neighborhood. At one intersection the door opened and a dark shape got out, though it would have been nearly impossible for anyone to see it, even if they had been looking, because the interior light had been covered.

Neal made his way to Kramer's house, carefully checking the exterior. It wasn't hard to find and disable the alarm system; actually, it didn't appear to have been substantially upgraded since what Sherwood had described from almost twenty years earlier.

_Given Kramer's activities you'd almost think the man would have known better…_

It wasn't hard to find the safe either, and that was definitely the same one Sherwood had described seeing.

Piece of cake.

Neal had the safe open in a few minutes, the documents out. He spread them on the floor, pulling a desk lamp down with him so he could see them.

What he found made his head spin.

It didn't take long to find the hidden compartment at the back of the closet in the office, and to pull out the three canvases he found there. All of them matched up with clippings from the safe about artwork stolen in various heists.

_Apparently the Greek antiquities were only the first of many jobs…_

Neal carried everything to the front room and laid the canvases out on the floor. He put the corresponding articles with them.

_And he took great pleasure in knowing that one of the canvases was a really excellent forgery – something he could personally attest to because he knew exactly what had happened to the original…_

But it had obviously fooled Kramer, which was good enough for current purposes.

He packed everything else from the safe into his messenger bag. Then he went back to the alarm system.

It was child's play to re-enable the silent alarm that would ring to the local police department, while still leaving the audible alarm – that would wake all of the neighbors – off. Then he triggered the silent alarm, conveniently left the front door open, and slipped out into the night.

From the darkened car a couple of blocks away, Neal and Clive watched the cars with flashing lights converge on the house. And then, leaving that investigation to the locals, they headed north.

It was almost five hundred miles to their destination – even with two of them driving, a long haul. But the closer they got to New York, the more likely that Neal's photo would be on display at the airports.

He couldn't get caught, not when he was this close.

Dawn was breaking as they passed the Philadelphia area. With Clive now behind the wheel, Neal used the lawyer's phone to make a call. Fortunately, the person on the other end was still following the routine that Neal recalled.

Also fortunately, the person he was talking to was willing to listen.

They had a plan in place shortly thereafter.

* * *

The coffee shop was on the Brooklyn side of the East River, and somewhat off the beaten path. That made it an attractive location for Peter's purpose that morning.

The fact that the place also had excellent coffee was a bonus.

He was already in a high-backed booth, savoring a cup of the darkest, full-octane brew offered, when Philip Kramer walked in.

Peter watched as the other agent looked around, as if expecting a trap. But then he walked toward the booth, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.

"I was surprised to get your call, Petey," Kramer said, sliding into the seat. "I hope this means you've come to your senses."

"My senses." Peter took a deep breath; as much momentary satisfaction as he might feel by punching Kramer right in the nose, it wouldn't be a good move in the long run. "How do we finish this, Phil? What's your end game?"

"Oh, Petey, I just want to see justice done."

"Justice. You know, there was a long time when I would have believed that when you said it. A long time when I would have believed anything you said. But not now. What do you really want?"

Kramer's eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared. "You wired, Petey?"

Peter sighed and reached around to pull his suit coat off, handing it across the table. As Kramer checked the pockets, Peter undid his tie and opened his shirt. "Satisfied?"

Kramer checked the last pocket and then reached across the table, grabbing Peter's wrist. "Department issue watch?"

"My wife gave me this watch."

"Let me see your ears."

Peter turned his head, proving that he had no earwig that might be transmitting. "Anything else?"

Kramer shrugged and handed the jacket back. "Can't be too careful these days."

"Seems to me that someone without something to hide wouldn't have to be so worried."

"A man in my position can't be too careful."

"Well, you know I'm not wired." Peter pulled his cell phone out, laying it on the table. "And my phone is off, so no one's listening in on that. Satisfied?"

"For now. But I really don't know what I can tell you, Petey. The internal investigation is ongoing and just has to run its course. It's out of my hands."

"Bullshit. You're orchestrating this whole thing. What is it you want to end all of this?"

Kramer's smile was back as he leaned forward across the table. "What I've wanted all along, Petey. I want Caffrey."

"Because you think he'll help you close ninety four percent of your cases?"

"Doesn't sound so bad to me."

"And it's worth taking him away from his home, his friends – his family?"

"Come on, Petey. Guys like Caffrey don't have a home and friends. They have _marks_ like you, who get fooled into thinking they're friends."

"You don't know him, Phil. You never took the time to even try."

"Oh, I know all about his type."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do." Peter paused, leaning back against the padding in the booth. _How much could he reveal without tipping his hand too much?_ "What happened to you, Phil? How long have you been so bitter?"

"Just a realist, Petey. I know what it takes to get ahead in this world."

"Yeah, I guess you do. And you have for quite a while."

Kramer's eyes narrowed, and he spent a long moment staring across the booth. "Now what would you mean by that, Petey?" he asked, his voice low and, to Peter's ear, a touch menacing.

"I know about the Greek antiquities, Phil. The Smithsonian heist you helped set up. What happened? Was it your plan to get the others caught, but Carmody messed it up by hiding the take someplace you couldn't find it?"

"You're getting desperate, Petey."

"No, you are, Phil. Thirty years later, and it's been eating at you ever since. And then, lo and behold, I drop George Carmody's kid right in front of you."

It was subtle, but the crack in Kramer's façade was there, just for a flash. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. You have no idea what I mean when I ask why you want to ruin Neal's life. Why you already ruined Joseph Sherwood's life."

"And why do you care so much about a couple of criminals?"

"You know why I care about Neal. As for Sherwood, I care about justice. And if you did what I think…"

"Exactly what might that be, Petey?"

"I think he found out something about you, something you thought was dangerous. You set him up on a trumped up charge, and you've done everything in your power to keep him in prison. Now you want to do the same to Neal. It's not for his good, or my good. It's so you can finally try to close out what you started over thirty years ago."

"Fascinating theory, Petey."

"Not a denial, Phil."

"If you had any proof of any of this, we wouldn't be sitting in a coffee shop."

"I have enough to know where to start digging. I'm the Archaeologist, remember?"

"How are you going to dig without a badge, Petey?"

"I figured that's what this was all about – the hearing, I mean. There's no evidence that I helped Neal escape. But you figure if you throw your weight around enough, make enough noise, they might cut me loose. And then there's no one standing between you and Neal."

"There's no one between me and Caffrey now. Agent Alphonse will track him down, and then, with the new escape charge, I'll have no trouble getting him assigned to DC. And it will be permanent."

"You haven't won yet."

"But I will, Petey. I will." Kramer slid out of the booth, adjusting his suit as he stood. "See you at the hearing."

Peter watched as Kramer left, and then he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Did you get that?" he asked, speaking over his shoulder.

"Got it." Sara Ellis came around to stand next to Peter. She held up the micro-recorder. "It might help a little, but he didn't really _admit_ anything. Do you really think it will help?"

"He didn't deny anything either," Peter pointed out. "It's not a smoking gun, I admit. But if we can find anything else, it might help."

"Any luck on that front?"

"Not yet, but I've been a little busy. Speaking of which." Peter tossed a couple of dollars onto the table for a tip. "I don't want to be late to my own hanging."

"You really think it'll be that bad?"

"Let's hope not."

* * *

The first day of the hearing – or, as Peter referred to it privately, Kramer's Inquisition – had seemed to drag on forever.

Kramer had wanted the entire White Collar team at the hearing, but Hughes had put his foot down – firmly – and nixed that idea. Since Jones had been with the unit for all of Neal's cases, he was sent to represent the team. His testimony corroborated the case files in all aspects of which he could claim personal knowledge.

The highlight of the whole day, in Peter's opinion, had come when Kramer had pushed Jones just a little too hard on whether he was lying to protect someone. _'I object to you calling me a liar, sir, and if you have any proof I suggest you bring it out now or else shut the hell up.'_

Yup, he loved his team.

Now, on Day Two, as expected, they had come to the U-boat and the treasure. This was a potential minefield. But Peter had provided the video of Matthew Keller's very detailed confession – a video that he had watched many times while trying to determine what to report. And, for better or worse, he had long ago come to terms with the report he had submitted.

_As El had put it, after all was said and done, the right man was behind bars._

Still, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable day…

* * *

"So your testimony is that Neal Caffrey had nothing at all to do with the theft of the Nazi treasure from the warehouse where Vincent Adler had stored it?"

Peter stared at Kramer, who had taken over today's questioning himself. And he was happy to note that the anger he felt must have translated to his eyes, because the other agent actually took half a step back.

Somehow, he managed not to smile.

"I had no evidence to show that he was involved." _Still true, since Neal had taken him to an empty warehouse…_

"But you called me to New York, to try and help you prove that he had it," Kramer pressed.

_And what a huge mistake that had turned out to be, for everyone…_ "As I told you at the time, I had my suspicions, but that's not the same as proof. The fact is, Neal passed the polygraph when he was asked if he stole the treasure."

"That's true," Jones confirmed. "I administered the test myself."

Kramer gave that a dismissive wave of his hand and a dubious cough. "Caffrey's a skilled liar. He fooled you."

"With all due respect, sir, Caffrey was questioned for nearly five hours, and his answers never wavered. That needle never wavered." Jones sat forward, toward Kramer. "Neal may be a skilled liar, but to control his physical responses enough to beat the polygraph over that long a period? I don't see how that's possible."

Kramer scowled and turned back to Peter. "But you weren't convinced."

Peter shrugged. "As my wife put it, I had chased Neal Caffrey for so long, maybe I just didn't know how to stop. And as I recall, our investigation at the time still turned up no definitive proof that the treasure had even survived the explosion. The Degas turned out to be a forgery. You confirmed that yourself."

"Caffrey's a skilled forger. Maybe he painted it himself."

"If you have any evidence of that, I'd like to see it. Otherwise, I'll take that as another baseless allegation."

"So it's your testimony that you believe Matthew Keller stole the treasure?"

"As you've seen, Matthew Keller confessed to it."

"Why would you cover for…"

Peter slammed his fist on the table, and the sound reverberated through the room. "I have no reason to do Matthew Keller any favors. He _kidnapped my wife_ to force Neal and me to help him move that damned treasure. And he was ready to double cross us, and probably kill my wife, if Agents Jones and Berrigan hadn't found her when they did. Keller himself had already tried to kill Neal when I got to the scene. And he was doing a damn fine job of trying to kill me, until Neal shot him."

"Which just brings up another problem, that of a convicted felon using a gun…"

"To save my life," Peter ground out, enunciating each word carefully. "There was a shooting inquiry, as is standard practice. Both Neal and Agent Berrigan, who shot Keller's accomplice, were cleared. That's a matter of record."

"I've seen the report," Kramer said, his tone almost dismissive. "He was behind you, an armed felon…"

"I'd trust Neal at my back with a gun before I'd trust you with anything," Peter shot back. He was vaguely aware of one of the agents conducting the hearing banging a gavel, calling for order…

And then a new voice caught everyone's attention.

"I suppose you could just ask me. I was there."

All heads swiveled toward the back of the room, watching as Neal walked forward, Diana at his side. There was another man with him, someone Peter didn't recognize, and they were both carrying portfolios.

Kramer finally reacted, pointing at Neal. "That man is a fugitive. Arrest him!"

A couple of the DC agents started forward, even as Jones slid over in front of Neal. Diana blocked his other side, and a moment later Peter had joined them, forming a barrier.

The other man stepped around the agents and addressed the panel. "Clive Lawson. I'm Mr. Caffrey's attorney. And he is here to present evidence that I think will explain quite a number of things."

"He's a fugitive! I want him arrested," Kramer insisted.

Neal walked calmly to the table where Peter and Jones had been sitting and put his case down. "You're welcome to verify that I'm unarmed," he said, holding his hands out at his side. "Or you could take Agent Berrigan's word for it, since I came here in her custody. But you are definitely going to want to hear what I have to say."

There was a brief, hushed discussion among the panel members, and then the man with the gavel motioned to one of the agents. Neal stood passively as the agent searched him, confirming that there was no weapon. Lawson had stepped up next to his client and he opened both portfolios, allowing a visual inspection to verify no weapons.

When the agent was finished and had stepped away, the lead agent on the panel spoke. "Are you aware that there is a fugitive warrant out for you, Mr. Caffrey?"

"I am. I turned myself in to Agent Berrigan about an hour ago."

"This is a non-judicial hearing considering any assistance that Agent Burke may have provided in your escape. However, given your status as a fugitive, anything you say here may be considered at any judicial proceeding you may face yourself. If you would like to consult with your attorney before continuing…"

Neal smiled – the smile anyone who knew him would know meant that he was holding the high card. "Oh, I _want_ to talk to you. You see, you're operating under the mistaken idea that Agent Burke had something to do with my disappearance. He didn't. That would be all Agent Kramer."

Kramer started to sputter, but the man leading the panel held up his hand for silence. "I assume you have evidence to support this accusation?"

Neal's smile widened as he reached into the first folder and pulled out some documents. "Yes, sir, I do." He handed a flash drive off to Jones, who moved off to bring the contents up, even as Neal continued. "Our tale begins a while ago – a little over thirty years ago, in fact. We'll start with a little story involving Agent Kramer and a man named George Carmody…"

* * *

Looking back, Peter wasn't sure which was the best part of the day.

Watching Philip Kramer go as white as a freshly laundered sheet when Neal mentioned George Carmody was certainly on the list. And watching his former mentor get increasingly flustered and desperate was definitely a contender too.

Neal was impressive as hell as he laid out his evidence. _Peter couldn't help but think – again – how different Neal's life could have been. He would have made one hell of an attorney. A prosecutor, definitely – or a defense attorney who made prosecutors lie awake at night, worrying._

Joseph Sherwood had provided the pieces to tie Kramer to George Carmody. Carmody and Sherwood had found a common cause – a common enemy – during their time in Hazelton. Shortly before his release, Carmody had told Sherwood where to find a cache of evidence. Sherwood, in turn, had gotten his brother-in-law to pick it up, and hide it, hoping that someday he'd find someone he could trust to deal with it.

There were photos, somewhat grainy and in low light, but still clearly identifiable as a young Philip Kramer, of the agent meeting in several locations with George Carmody.

_And to Peter's eyes it was even more clear how much Neal looked like his father…_

There were blueprints too, filled with notes in Kramer's handwriting about where the Greek artifacts were being stored and transported to. Information about the transit route was documented, along with notations on where security would be the tightest.

_Amazing how much was handwritten before computers and smartphones became so prevalent…_

Kramer made some arguments about Neal being a forger, and the evidence was obviously a set-up. But Clive Lawson added his testimony that he was with Neal when they talked to Sherwood, when they recovered the documents from the brother-in-law, and that he had been in possession of them since.

It was clear that a couple of aides had been tasked to find out who Lawson was, and there was some frantic texting going on. But apparently no one found anything to impeach his word.

Neal also presented some recent documents with Kramer's signature. The panel would, of course, have a handwriting analysis done – but to the casual observer, the writing samples sure seemed to match.

And then there was the evidence that one of Lawson's 'clients' had presented him with. No, he couldn't provide a name – attorney-client privilege and all. And no, he had no knowledge of any as-yet-uncommitted crime, which of course it would be his duty as an officer of the court to report, including naming names. But the evidence of past crimes had been provided to him in confidence – and who knew that a senior FBI official would turn out to be involved in a dozen or more high profile thefts over the years.

Oh, and Lawson had heard, through his sources, that the police in Burke, Virginia, were looking for Kramer. It seemed they had some questions about an apparent break-in at his home, and about some stolen artwork found in Kramer's home. In his position as an officer of the court, Lawson had taken it upon himself to inform the police where Philip Kramer could be found.

_Yeah, the part where the police walked into the hearing room was pretty good too._

Then there were the documents on the flash drive Jones opened up. It wasn't nearly all of what Peter had seen in Belize, but it was a good sample. The visitation log at Hazelton, showing Kramer's monthly trips to talk to George Carmody, seemed of particular interest to the panel.

In the end, the panel finally called a close to the proceedings for the day. Everything was logged into evidence, and the panel members spent a good deal of time huddled together, discussing their next steps.

One of those steps was definitely _not_ on Peter's list of favorites. Given Neal's status as a fugitive, his arrest was ordered, and agents were tasked to escort him to the Hawthorne federal holding facility. As much as Peter wanted to go along, it was also important that he stay, and make sure the pressure on Kramer didn't relent. And so he could only watch as Neal was led away in cuffs, accompanied by his attorney and Jones, to make sure the transfer was without incident.

Peter promised to stop by later…


	12. Visitors

By the time he got through with all of the official statements and paperwork, it was quite late by the time he got to Hawthorne. Fortunately, the staff was quite used to law enforcement visits at odd hours, and his badge got him right in.

_The badge that was probably still hanging by a rather tenuous thread, but at least he had it for now._

And despite the day's tension – indeed, the tenseness of the last few weeks – Peter couldn't help but smile just a little as the guard led him toward a cell.

_Neal was in the same cell Keller had occupied before his escape, and Peter's subsequent kidnapping. Now that __had__ to have some kind of strange meaning._

As they got closer to the barred door, he could see Neal inside, dressed now in garish orange, standing near the window.

The guard opened the door and Peter stepped inside. He waited until the door was locked again, and the guard stepped away, before speaking. "That was quite the entrance you made today."

"Yeah, well, as long as it worked." Neal turned slightly away from the window, looking straight at Peter. "Did it?"

"Pending further investigation, they have Kramer on house arrest at his hotel. Between the taped evidence that Sara got, and what you brought in from Sherwood, I think there's enough to put Kramer away."

"That's good. And you?"

Peter pulled out his badge and laid it on the table between them as he sat down. "Got this back. There will still be some questions, but I think the worst is over."

Neal's fingers reached over to brush against the badge and then he nodded. "Good."

"What about you? How are you doing?"

Neal gestured at the cell surrounding him. "This isn't quite what I fantasized when I asked about coming home. But at least I'm not running any more. I've had fifteen years of that."

"Listen, Neal, when things settle down a little, maybe I can help find your parents."

"No need."

"What, you're honestly not curious?"

"Peter, I haven't seen my dad since I was a toddler. And now, whatever mess he got himself into over thirty years ago, has caught me up too. It's taken everything away. I suppose you may need to look for him to close out the original theft, but not for me."

"What about your mom?"

Neal turned to stare out the window again before answering. "I have this fantasy," he said softly. "I like to believe that my mom is doing well. Maybe she's even found someone to love her again. And in this fantasy, she believes that her son has done well too, that he's made something of his life." He sank down onto the bench on his side of the table. "It's a good fantasy, Peter. Why ruin it by telling her that her son screwed up his life just like her husband did."

"Neal…"

"Come on, Peter. You told me yourself, if I ran on the anklet, I was back in for good. With my reputation as a snitch – and, as you so ably testified at my sentencing hearing, something of a flight risk – I can look forward to spending the rest of my life in a concrete box in the segregation unit."

"I'm going to try and find a way around that." _Because yes, damn it, he had said that, and meant it…_

"I knew what I was doing, Peter."

"You knew you could be signing your life away, and yet you came back, walked right into an FBI hearing. Why?"

Neal managed a soft smile. "Because you're a good man. Probably the best man I've ever known. You're the man I wanted to be growing up. The difference is, you actually became that man, and I… Well, I fell so very far short." Neal sighed and got to his feet again, turning to stare out the window. "And because you almost lost Elizabeth because of me. I couldn't let her lose you."

Peter had to take a few deep breaths before he could speak. "Don't sell yourself short, Neal. You _are_ a good man."

"Too little, too late." Neal whispered the words, still staring out the window. "And hey, I'll get all my meals delivered to my door. Three showers a week. And five days a week I can go outside for an hour in a concrete yard. All the perks."

Neal's voice sounded steady, but it didn't escape Peter's notice that the younger man couldn't look at him. "Neal, everything happened so fast today. Give me a little time to sort things out."

"Hey, I've got nothing _but_ time. And I'm in no hurry to leave." He brushed his fingers along the bars covering the reinforced glass. "There are no windows in segregation."

"You helped uncover a huge cover-up within the Bureau."

"I'm sure people will love a convicted felon doing that."

"We have something to work with here, Neal."

Neal finally turned back and sat down at the table again. "Well, if not, these last six months have been like borrowed time anyway."

"How do you figure that?"

"The day after we took Keller down. When I walked into the office that morning, I was sure that it was for the last time. And once I confessed, the only way I was leaving again was in chains. Instead, I got another three months to work with you. And it was mostly good, wasn't it?"

Peter's thoughts went back to those days, and he had to smile. "Yeah, it was mostly good. Well, maybe not you teaching my wife to pick locks."

"She was a natural."

"I guess it could be a useful life skill." Peter paused, waiting until Neal's eyes met his. "However you did it, I know I'll never forget being on the field at Yankee Stadium."

Neal swallowed hard, nodded. "I'll remember that too," he whispered.

"I keep wondering what I could have done differently, where I should have seen what Kramer was doing."

"There wasn't anything you could do, Peter. Why would you ever even consider that your friend – your mentor – would be involved in something like this?"

"I know. I just… What a mess."

"Yeah."

"So how can you stay so calm?"

"Well, I just had a tropical vacation." Neal managed another small smile. "Besides, I figure I'll have plenty of time to fall apart."

Peter found that he was the one who was having trouble staying calm, and he took a few more deep breaths. "We're not out of plays yet."

Neal just nodded.

"Look, is there anything you need?"

"Oh, maybe my lock picks. A few grand in bribe money. A guard's uniform would be good."

"What about a fake mustache?"

"I don't do disguises, remember?"

"Right. I was thinking maybe something a little less last-ditch for the moment."

"The guard wasn't sure if I was allowed visitors – other than FBI agents, of course. Do you think you could find out?"

"Yeah. I doubt the right people are here this late, but I'll check in the morning. Anyone specific you want to see?"

"Everyone. I didn't get to say goodbye before, and for the first time, that bothers me. I need to say it now."

"Neal, even if – _if_ – you go to prison, Sing Sing is only thirty miles up the road. We'll…"

"No." Neal's reply was immediate, insistent. But when he continued, his voice was shaky for the first time. "There won't be anyone on my visitor list. I don't want anyone to see what I'll become."

_Shit._

Peter got to his feet and walked to the other side of the table, his hands on Neal's shoulders. "Don't give up on me yet, all right?"

"Peter, if I was going to give up on you, I wouldn't be here."

Peter just tightened his grip for a moment, not knowing what to say. After a moment, Neal's fingers closed over one of his hands, and he just stood there for what might have been seconds, or minutes, or maybe hours. "Do you need anything tonight?" he finally managed to ask.

Neal shook his head, and slowly pulled his hand away. "No. I'm fine."

Peter didn't figure that anything about the whole situation could really be considered 'fine' – but right then, it wasn't likely either he or Neal could go much longer without breaking down. And for Neal's sake – without any real reassurance to give his friend – he didn't want that.

_Like Neal said, there'd be time for that later…_

With one more, hopefully reassuring, squeeze to Neal's shoulder, Peter finally stepped away. "Look, try to get some rest," he said, motioning to the guard at the other end of the hall. "I'll see what I can do about visitors in the morning."

"Thanks, Peter."

The guard opened the door, but Peter stopped just before stepping out of the cell. "I mean it, Neal. We're not done yet. I think Butch and Sundance still have a few cards to play."

* * *

Neal's status at Hawthorne made him unique among the detainees held there. He'd originally been brought in as a fugitive, but the next morning the FBI clarified that he was also a material witness in an ongoing investigation. Each type of detainee had different rights and privileges.

In the end, the powers-that-be decided that the best course of action was just to offer what would be easiest for them to administer. The detainee was being held in the minimum security area; some people were there legitimately, others by way of certain connections. The guidelines allowed for a reasonable number of visitors in the cell. A phone number was provided to schedule a time, and to confirm what types of items were allowed to be brought in.

Peter made a couple of calls, passing on the information about visitors. Then he got busy with other calls.

* * *

It was June who showed up first, followed by two guards carrying bags. And as she started pulling items out of the bags, Neal almost thought he might believe in Santa again.

By the time she left, he had several large, very fluffy pillows to make the bunk seem a little more inviting. She'd also brought a radio and CD player, with several of his favorite discs.

_And he gladly let her vent her anger at the mess Kramer's search had caused – including all of his CDs pulled out of the cases. But she had fixed it…_

He also had a sketch book, his favorite set of charcoals, and a collection of mystery novels of the type she knew he liked. She had also brought a selection of his favorite snacks.

_He'd have to eat them fast, because those wouldn't be allowed once he was transferred…_

But the most important gift June brought was her shoulder. They sat together for a long time as she hugged him close. He tried his best to pay attention, and not simply let himself get lost in the hug, as she told him about Cindy and Samantha and her other grandchildren.

He even tried to believe when June talked about keeping the guestroom ready for him, _when_ he came back. But in the end, he really couldn't allow himself to believe because it was going to hurt too much when that didn't come true.

When the guards finally came to say that their time was up, he held her tight just one more moment, impressing the feelings into his memories.

And he made a discovery that surprised him a little. As hard as it had been to leave before without really saying goodbye, actually _saying_ the words was tenfold harder.

Of course, it was something he'd never really done before…

* * *

Hughes looked up at the knock at his door, waving his hand. "Peter."

"Got a minute?"

"Of course."

Peter stepped in closing the door. "I just got off a rather long phone call with Merle Lightner."

"The Assistant U.S. Attorney. This was about Caffrey, I assume."

"Yeah. He wants to review the documents, of course, but in principle, he won't oppose a hearing by the probation board to consider any mitigating circumstances in Neal's case."

"Well, that's good news, right?"

"It is. But he did point out that getting the hearing might stand a better chance if I could assure the board that Neal had something waiting for him here. Would you support Neal coming back to work?"

Hughes smiled and shook his head once. "You know, at one point I would have thought that was a crazy question."

Peter offered up a small smile too. "And now?"

"I can't officially push for the hearing, but yes, if you can get the board to hear the case, I'll support bringing Caffrey back to work."

"Thanks. That's one hurdle down."

"How are you doing in all of this, Peter? I mean with Kramer, and Caffrey, and all."

"Philip Kramer made his choices, and he'll have to deal with the repercussions. But Neal… Neal put everything on the line for me, and he deserves better than what he's getting."

"If there's anything I can do unofficially, let me know."

"I will, thanks."

* * *

Sara showed up just after noon. Obviously dressed for work, she was wearing a fitted pants suit in a dark heathered violet, a white silk blouse, and heels that brought her nearly to Neal's height as he met her just inside the cell.

"Interesting welcoming committee, Caffrey," she said, as the guard closed the cell door and stepped away.

"Was it bad?"

"I usually require that someone buy me dinner before being touched like that."

"Sorry about that. But thanks for coming." He took her hand, leading her toward the bunk.

Sara held back, looking over her shoulder at the barred door. "A little public for a conjugal visit, don't you think?"

Neal grinned. "It would be, but not what I had in mind. With all the pillows June brought, it's the most comfortable place to sit."

"And all I brought was sandwiches."

"Later. Come sit with me. Please."

Neal went to the bunk and sat down, moving to put his back up against the pillows that comprised a makeshift headboard. He held his arm out, and a moment later Sara approached, kicked off her shoes, and settled in next to him.

"Well?"

"Not bad," she admitted.

"Best I can offer."

"For now."

Neal just wrapped his arm around her and didn't say anything for a moment. "Thanks for helping Peter," he finally said.

"Of course. Neal we all care about you."

"I know. Takes some getting used to though."

"Too many years not caring about anyone else?"

"Something like that," he admitted. "Sara, I'm so sorry…"

He finger against his lips stopped his words. "Neal, don't. We've done the apologies."

"I know. It just seems like I keep hurting people, even when I don't mean to."

"You came back to save Peter. That's a good thing."

"According to Mozzie, it proves that I'm certifiably crazy."

"Or certifiably a good friend."

"I hope so. It would be nice to go out with a good deed."

"Neal…"

"Hey remember when you asked if that was my real name?"

"I remember you didn't want to answer."

"Well, I'm ready to tell you now, if you want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Neal actually is my legal name…"

* * *

Peter found them there later, sitting together on the narrow bunk. Sara was curled in, her head on Neal's shoulder. His head rested on top of hers, and both of them were asleep.

Neal woke first when the door opened, opening his eyes suddenly. He reached over to touch Sara's arm, waking her gently.

Neal managed a smile as Sara disentangled herself and stood up. "Hi, Peter."

"Neal. Sara."

"Peter." Sara busied herself smoothing her clothing. "What time is it?" she asked, pulling on her shoes.

"Almost two o'clock."

"Oh, I'm going to be late for a meeting. Neal…"

"Thanks for coming."

"Of course. I'll come back."

He leaned in, kissing her cheek. "Bye, Sara."

They watched her go, and then Peter turned back to Neal. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Neal shook his head, running his fingers through his hair to get rid of the slept-in look. "No, we were talking. I didn't intend to fall asleep."

"Get any sleep last night?"

"Not much." He smiled, pointing at Peter. "You have some dark circles under the eyes yourself."

"Yeah. I guess I've had a few things on my mind."

"What's the news?"

"June called this afternoon. She said Clive Lawson went back to West Virginia to represent Joseph Sherwood for real. With everything that's coming out about Kramer, there's a good shot Clive can get Sherwood at least released, if not exonerated."

"That's good. According to his brother-in-law, Sherwood still has a loving wife to go home to. Carol never gave up trying to get him cleared."

"Well, that would be one happy ending." Peter looked around the cell and smiled. "Someone's been decorating."

"June might have stopped by with a few things," Neal admitted. "All the comforts of home."

"Well, probably not quite _all_."

Neal just shrugged. "It was good to see her."

Peter decided to let the deflection go; it wasn't like he had much encouraging news for Neal – yet. "El had two big events today and she couldn't get away. She'll be by tomorrow, and she wanted me to ask if you needed her to bring anything."

"No, I think June covered everything pretty well. Unless she can bring Satchmo, that is."

"I'm not sure if they'll go for that here."

"Oh, well, that's too bad. But tell Elizabeth I would like to see her."

"She'll be here."

"Anything new on Kramer?"

"Yeah, the investigators have been looking into the documents Clive received from his anonymous client. Some big open cases there and it certainly looks like Kramer was right in the middle of it." Peter sighed and sat down on the nearest bench. "It's brilliant, in some ways. Working in DC, art crimes, he knew where all of the big exhibits were. He set up just enough jobs to give himself a nice side income, but not enough to raise a lot of flags."

"Until Sherwood stumbled onto some of the evidence."

"Until then, yeah. And he kept up his case closure rate, which kept suspicion off of him too."

"It wasn't ninety-four percent though."

Peter smiled, though it was a little bittersweet. "No, it wasn't. That record belongs to us."

"I always wanted to set a record."

"What, the record for being the first to successfully forge an Atlantic bond wasn't enough?"

"It was good, but I did suffer a bit of a setback after that."

"Hmmmmm. Speaking of forgeries, the art crimes investigators seem to think one of the paintings recovered from Kramer's house might be a forgery. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"

"Peter, how would *I* know anything about what was recovered from Kramer's house?"

"Right."

"Was it a Monet by any chance?"

"You know, I think it just might be."

"He did do some excellent work."

"So I've noticed. And I won't ask any more questions."

"That would probably be good."

"And if the investigators from Virginia come calling?"

Neal gave that a small smile. "I'll refer them to my lawyer."

"I suppose it might be dangerous for you to be talking to me."

"No, I _want_ to talk to you, Peter. Just maybe not about certain open cases."

Peter smiled and nodded. "I guess I can live with those guidelines, under the circumstances."

"But Peter, if it looks like anything will blow back on you, I'll…"

"It won't, Neal."

"Well, but if it does…"

"We'll figure it out."

"Right."

"I'm still working on some options for you, Neal."

"And I'm still working on not giving up. But that doesn't mean I'm not being realistic, Peter."

"I understand. And I won't insult you by getting your hopes up without reason."

"Thank you. I trusted you wouldn't." Neal reached across the table and picked up a couple of envelopes. "Do you think you could deliver these for me?"

Peter looked down at the names written neatly on the fronts. "Jones and Diana?"

"Some information they might need. Nothing even remotely illegal, I promise."

Peter nodded and put the envelopes into his pocket. "I'll take care of it. Anything else I can do?"

"Actually, when Keller was in here, they let him have a cell phone. Did he just bribe enough people, or do you think I could get mine?"

"Good question. I'll find out. In the meantime, you can use my phone…"

Neal gave that a small smile and a quick shake of his head. "The recipient might not like the number being called from your phone."

"Mozzie?"

"Well, someone who can contact him. I'd like to let him know what we found on Kramer."

"I'll check on getting you your phone. If not, I'll bring a burner and say it's mine."

"Thanks." Neal hesitated a moment before his next question. "Peter, is there… Well, I suppose you can't tell me if there's an open investigation involving Moz."

Peter actually gave that a short laugh. "How could there be? We don't even know his real name. Do you?" Getting only that small half smile and shrug that he'd come to know so well from Neal, Peter sighed and continued. "No, there's no open investigation involving Mozzie. You were the only one who was reported as a fugitive. But speaking of fugitives, remember that agent I told you about? Alphonse? No one's heard from him in a few days."

"I'm sure he's fine. He'll probably show up in a day or so."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Do I want to know any more about this?"

"I'm sure you'll get all of the details from Agent Alphonse – when he turns up."

"In a day or so."

"About that, yeah."

"Right." Peter shook his head in resignation. "Mozzie can come back anytime he wants to. I suppose he's probably concocting a plan to swoop in with a helicopter or something and break you out."

"Well, I did tell him there was really no way to get a helicopter into the ad seg yard."

"Neal…"

"I know, not giving up, Peter. Just being realistic."

"Yeah." Peter got to his feet, signaling to the guard. "Look, I have a meeting to go to now. I'll stop back later and bring you something for dinner. Any requests?"

"Yes – have dinner with your wife instead. Seriously, Peter, you both need that. And Sara brought sandwiches for lunch; then we fell asleep so she didn't even eat hers. I'm fine."

Peter hesitated a moment, torn between two options, but he finally nodded. "All right, tonight's for El. We'll both be by tomorrow though."

Neal smiled and gave a small wave as Peter stepped out into the hallway. "I'll be here."


	13. A Chance

Neal looked up from his book as the footsteps approached; it wasn't as though he could really concentrate on the book anyway, but it seemed like a better use of his time than just pacing endlessly.

He was a little surprised, though pleasantly so, when he saw Diana in the hallway. He marked his place and stood up as she was let in and the guard walked away.

The surprise quickly turned to a touch of fear though as she rounded on him, angrier than he had ever seen her.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?" she demanded, waving something in his direction.

Unfortunately, it was so close to his nose, he couldn't really see it to answer. Instead, he held up his hands and tried to take a step back, only to have his leg bang up against the bunk. He really tried to keep his balance…

But he wound up taking a rather undignified _plop_ onto the bed instead.

_Thank goodness for the extra pillows that kept his head from directly testing the hardness of the concrete wall._

"Diana, honestly, I don't know what I did," he finally managed to say, impressed by how calm he actually managed to keep his voice.

Maybe the calmness helped, or maybe she did realize that he couldn't possibly see what she had in her hand. Whatever the reason, she did take a deep breath – and a step back. "Peter delivered this."

_Oh._

"You said I could plan your bachelor party," he started. He still wasn't sure why she was upset, but he did recognize the note he'd written now. "I'd made all the arrangements, and it's paid for. But I didn't have a date yet before I… left. When you and Christie have a date, you just have to call Joey…"

The flames were back in Diana's eyes as she shook her head. "Caffrey, why in the world would I want this party… if you're not there?"

_What?_

Neal had to think for a moment. "Diana, you deserve the party. I want you to have it."

"Neal, I said you could _throw_ the party. That implies you have to be there."

"Diana…"

She sank down onto the bed next to him, staring down at the note. "This is incredibly sweet," she said, her voice softer again. "And I'm sure it would be one hell of a party. But unless you're available to make the final arrangements yourself, and _be_ there, I don't want it."

Neal took a moment to swallow a few times against the sudden lump in his throat. "You know where I'm probably going to wind up."

"Neal…"

"I don't think they give furlough days to lifers for bachelor parties."

"Peter's working on something. I don't know what, but I know he's trying."

"And I would never totally bet against Peter. But the thing is, I've always understood the consequences of running on the anklet." He reached over slowly, putting his hand over hers, over the note. "You waited a long time to be able to get married. Don't let me ruin it."

"You're not ruining anything, Caffrey. Christie and I are still getting married next month."

"Next month?"

"Yeah, we finally picked a date."

"Congratulations." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Diana, please…"

"I talked to Christie this morning after I saw this, and she agreed. No party unless you're there."

"I tried."

"I know. And I did too. When Jones got his instructions about being the host, I told him we shouldn't both come and yell at you at the same time."

"I appreciate that. Believe me, you scared me quite enough all by yourself."

Diana actually laughed softly at that. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch."

"Not a chance."

"Peter will figure something out by next month," Diana said, squeezing his hand.

Neal just nodded; it was safer than talking just then.

* * *

"Look, I just need a few minutes. Is there any way… Yes, that's right… Today at four? Yes, I can be there. Thank you."

Peter hung up the phone, allowing himself a quick sigh of relief. There was still a long way to go to get Neal home, but this was a start.

Now he just needed to get everything ready for a crucial meeting…

* * *

Elizabeth's visit wasn't nearly as scary.

She came in just after eleven, several bags in her hands; she even managed a smile that only looked semi-forced.

Neal took the bags, ignoring the enticing aromas wafting out of them in favor of more immediate gratification in the form of a hug.

"Thanks for coming, Elizabeth."

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry I couldn't make it yesterday."

"That's all right. June and Sara came. And Peter, of course. It's good to spread things out."

"Well, I have been meeting with caterers this morning, and I brought samples." She moved to the table and started unpacking small containers. "I hope you're hungry."

He wasn't, really; something about cells and bars over the window and maybe spending the rest of his life in a place even worse made him a little queasy, to be honest. But he wasn't going to ruin things for Elizabeth. "Famished," he assured her, helping to open some containers. "What do we have?"

* * *

He was actually a little worried when he saw Jones coming down the hall toward the cell. After Diana's angry entrance, this could be bad…

But Jones seemed calm, and even smiled as he stepped inside. "Caffrey."

"Jones." Still, appearances could be deceiving. "Are you going to yell at me too?"

"Nah, I heard Diana already did that."

"Oh, she did. Believe me."

"She got the message across?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe." Neal picked up a plastic pitcher and a glass. "Sparkling punch? Elizabeth brought it, and it should really be consumed before it stops sparkling."

Jones shrugged and nodded. "Sure," he said, sitting down at the table. "So, only maybe?"

Neal poured and then sat down himself. "Jones, I want Diana to have that party."

"So do I. And I plan to be there with my dancing shoes on. But you're hosting, not me."

Neal stared down at his cup. "And what if I can't?" he asked softly.

"I'm not ready to go there," Jones replied, his voice firm. "Your desk is still _your_ desk. I expect to see you back there."

"Right."

"Right." Jones reached into his pocket and slid something across the table. "They said, as a material witness, you could have a phone, but not a smart phone with internet, so I got you this."

Neal picked up the phone, flipping the top open. "Thanks. This is fine."

Jones laid the charger out next. "If you need numbers from your phone, I can try to get you access."

"No, I know the numbers I need."

"I put five hundred minutes on it."

"That should be fine."

"If you need more… well, I guess you can call me." Jones hesitated a moment before continuing. "I did record the number, in case I needed to add time to it."

"That's fine. Honestly, I'm not planning to use it to orchestrate a breakout or anything. There are just a few things I need to take care of."

"Anything I can do?"

Neal shook his head and smiled, holding the phone up. "You've already done it. Bringing this and, well, just stopping by…"

* * *

Peter sat in the small lobby, totally uncomfortable in the hard chair. But he did his best to remain composed, and not squirm. It didn't really seem like that would project a professional appearance.

It was just a difficult façade to keep up, especially since the person he was meeting was over half an hour late.

Finally, the outer door opened and Amanda Cabot walked in. He suit jacket was unbuttoned, her briefcase trailed from her fingertips, and she looked exhausted.

If the circumstances had been any less desperate, Peter might have felt bad about tacking more onto her plate, especially this late on a Friday.

"Ms. Cabot."

"Agent Burke. I apologize for being late. The hearing ran overtime."

"Not a problem. I appreciate you agreeing to see me."

He followed as Cabot led the way into her office, a small room off to the side of the reception area. She shed her jacket, hanging it over the chair, kicked off her shoes, and sank down behind the desk. "I hope you don't mind. It was a long day."

"I totally understand."

"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Peter drew in a deep breath before answering. "Neal Caffrey."

That got Cabot's attention, and she leaned forward, arms resting on her desk. "Definitely one of the more unique cases in my experience with the probation department. Has there been a new development?"

"Before I answer that, Ms. Cabot, I need to know something. The prior hearing, three months ago – can you tell me which way the Board was leaning?"

"Mr. Caffrey became a fugitive before we could come to a decision."

"I understand that. And I'm not asking what your final decision would have been. But surely you have an idea of how a vote would have gone."

"Agent Burke…"

"Please. It's very important."

Cabot sighed and leaned back in her chair again. "As I recall, your two junior agents were the only witnesses who didn't outright endorse the commutation, and even they said they'd support it if that was the Board's decision. But it was your own testimony, as Mr. Caffrey's handler, that was the most crucial. And you endorsed setting him free."

"I did."

"I think there's a reasonable chance that would have been the Board's decision. Now, tell me what's going on to prompt these questions."

"Neal came back to New York."

"I see. But I'm not sure I understand why you're here. After his escape, there's no way a commutation would be approved, even if the Board would have voted that way before."

"I do understand that."

"In fact," Cabot continued, "with a second escape charge, I'm afraid the sentencing guidelines are quite clear."

"They are. But, as with most things concerning Neal, there are some unusual circumstances."

"That may be, Agent Burke, but the probation office doesn't have jurisdiction in a case like this."

"Normally, that would be true," Peter agreed. He reached into the portfolio he carried and pulled out a letter, which he slid across the desk. "I've been in contact with the U.S. Attorney's office, and they agree there are some extenuating circumstances. They're taking no official position on a reduced sentence, but they won't oppose a hearing to explore those circumstances if your office is willing to hear the case."

Cabot read through the letter and looked up. "What kind of circumstances are we talking about?"

Peter laid the portfolio on the desk. "I've brought the most relevant evidence for you to examine. I'm hoping you'll see enough to set a hearing."

"You understand, a hearing doesn't necessarily mean that the final sentence would change."

Peter nodded slowly. "I understand. I know what Neal's facing. And believe me, he knows what he's facing. But a hearing would at least be a chance."

* * *

The weekend passed about as well as he could expect, Neal decided.

The weather was nice, and he was allowed out into the yard a couple of times each day. He tried to block out memories of walking with Keller in the same area. It seemed a lifetime ago that Keller had been the one in institutional orange, while he had been free to leave.

Clive Lawson stopped by Saturday morning. He brought the news that Joseph Sherwood had a parole hearing in two weeks. Without Philip Kramer to oppose the motion, Lawson was cautiously optimistic about getting him released. And he would continue to pursue the possibility of a new trial.

Lawson flatly refused Neal's offer to pay him for the work he was doing on Sherwood's behalf.

Unfortunately, Clive didn't have any real answers for Neal's personal predicament. But he'd keep looking.

Peter and Elizabeth showed up Saturday afternoon, picnic basket in hand. They spent a pleasant few hours talking about everything _except_ where Neal might be spending the next thirty, forty, or fifty years.

Things would have almost seemed normal if not for the barred doors and windows, the ugly concrete table, the guards…

And the fact that Neal could only watch as Peter and Elizabeth left that evening.

On Sunday, Sara stopped by with a book she'd found on strange but true stories from the world of art. They sat on the bunk _cum_ couch and took turns reading to each other. Neal did fairly well on the trivia quiz. He knew that Claude Monet had called color his day-long obsession, joy and torment, and that Pablo Picasso considered art a lie that makes us realize truth. But somehow he missed the question about which fruit Cezanne said he would astonish Paris with. (Sara tossed him an apple from the basket Elizabeth had brought to remind him.)

June brought dinner Sunday evening, and they debated whether Samantha should come to see him. Neal was glad he won on that one; Hawthorne was no place for her, not even for a visit.

With everyone back at work on Monday, Neal had plenty of time to himself. He kept busy, mostly with sketches. He drew Luna, Hector, the Mozart Charters office, with the boat moored off to the side. He closed his eyes, picturing the view from his bungalow window, and then opened them again to produce a sketch of the lagoon and the market square and the Blue Oasis. He even drew the tiger shark he'd seen on one dive…

_Yeah, he hadn't mentioned that one to Mozzie. No sense winding up with another lecture about man-eaters lurking beneath the sea._

When he finished with his Ambergris Caye memories, he started on New York. He sketched Peter, Elizabeth, Satchmo, June, Bugsy, Sara, Diana, Christie, Jones, Hughes, Blake, Westley, and the White Collar office. He did June's house, and the view from his (former?) balcony. Then he did the front of Peter's house, and the patio.

It was still only Wednesday.

Somewhat reluctantly, he turned his thoughts back to St. Louis. He started with relatively safe things, like the pool hall where he'd learned the tricks of making billiard balls do his bidding. The shooting range seemed fairly safe too, and the ice cream parlor just down the street where he'd take his allowance and try a new flavor each week.

He drew Ellen too, as he'd seen her just a few months earlier.

And then, fighting sudden tremors in his hand, he drew his mother and his sister, just as he remembered them. It was at dinner, the night before they left on the Scout retreat. He remembered it so clearly. His mother had made her special meatloaf, he'd made mashed potatoes, and Lisa had baked an apple pie.

It was the last time he'd seen them.

After that, he couldn't draw anymore. He spent most of Friday curled up on the bunk, pretending to read if anyone came to check on him.

* * *

Peter had done his best to concentrate on work that week. Somehow, white collar crime hadn't realized that he was otherwise occupied recently, and the criminals had not taken a vacation. There was a stack of new cases on his desk, in addition to the files his team had already started working.

As much as life was _not_ back to normal, he needed to get some semblance of normality back. He led daily briefing meetings, doing his utmost to pay attention to the case reports his agents supplied. Some of the cases he left to be worked by the junior agents; it was good practice. A few cases seemed to need some additional help, so they were assigned to sub-teams, led by Jones or Diana.

The remaining files Peter took, and dutifully read through all of the documentation; many he had to read through more than once when his mind wandered to other concerns. But by the end of the week he had them prioritized, and he'd start making his assignments next week.

Throughout it all, he did his best to ignore the empty desk near the door.

Honestly, it hadn't hurt so much to look at that desk before. But now, knowing that Neal was so close, just at the Hawthorne facility, but not _here_ where he belonged, made the emptiness more profound.

He stopped by Hawthorne twice, short visits in the evening. He told Neal about some of the more interesting cases, and about some more everyday things, like Satchmo's vet visit after a run-in with a commando squirrel in the backyard.

He saw the sketches as they piled up, but Neal didn't volunteer anything about them, and Peter wasn't sure what he dared ask.

All week, he waited for a call, willing the phone to ring…

Friday turned out to be a day of progress. Agent Alphonse showed up in Peter's office, with a very interesting story to share.

And the phone call finally came late Friday afternoon.

* * *

Despite the long week, there was a little extra spring in his step as Peter walked down the hallway toward the cell at the end.

He could see Neal sitting at the table, his head bent over something. The younger man didn't look up until the door was opened and Peter stepped in and set the bag he was carrying down.

"Neal."

"Hey, Peter." Neal sighed and set his charcoal down, then put the half-finished sketch on top of the others.

"You're getting quite a collection there."

"I've had some free time this week."

"Well, you better enjoy it, because you might be busy soon."

"Meaning?"

Peter sat down at the table and then reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Hot off the press."

Neal took the page, unfolded it – and his eyes widened as he read the contents. "A probation hearing?"

"Yeah. They've agreed to review any mitigating factors in your case."

"How'd you manage that?"

"The U.S. Attorney's office has been involved in the whole investigation with Kramer. They're not taking an official position on a sentence reduction, but they won't oppose a hearing."

Neal just sat there, looking at the printout of the e-mail. Peter finally reached over and touched his shoulder. "What are you thinking?"

Neal set the paper on the table and looked up. "It just doesn't seem real."

"You said that about the commutation hearing too."

"True, but look how that turned out."

"It'll probably be best if you stick around for the whole hearing this time."

Neal managed a small smile and nodded. "I've been running one way or another since I was eighteen. I think I'm done with that. I made my choice."

"Yeah, you did." Peter sighed and gave Neal's shoulder another pat, then pulled his hand back. "Look, the hearing is a good step, Neal. But I'm not going to lie and say it will be easy. The presumption is that the standard sentence will be imposed. We have to overcome that."

"I understand."

"I think we have a lot of things to argue. It may not be easy, Neal, but it is a chance."

"It is, and I appreciate it, Peter."

"I had a visitor this afternoon too," Peter continued.

"Good or bad?"

"It was Agent Alphonse."

"I told you he'd show up."

"You did. He had a pretty interesting story to tell."

"I understand he had a tropical vacation too."

"A little too much excitement for a vacation, I guess." Peter leaned forward again. "Neal, he told me what you did. Why didn't you say something?"

"Say what, Peter? Did Agent Alphonse also use words like false imprisonment?" Neal tapped the copy of the e-mail on the table. "Kind of takes care of this, doesn't it."

"Actually, he talked about the actions of a very brave man who saved his life. And then saw that he had a safe, if isolated, place to recuperate for a few days. Left him some interesting reading material too."

"He did read it?"

"He did, and he's up to speed on what's been happening here too. Neal, this helps your case."

Neal replied with a weary smile. "You know it's all your fault, Peter."

"How do you figure that?"

"I was doing just fine without a conscience until you came along."

That actually got a soft laugh from Peter. "Sure you were, Neal."

Neal got up and walked to the window, staring out. "So what happens now? I stay here until after the hearing?"

"Yeah, nothing changes. I tried to get the marshals to agree to the anklet, but…"

"I sort of cut the last one."

"That _was_ the deciding factor. But the investigation into Kramer's activities is wrapping up, so they'll probably bring you in to answer some final questions. That'll give you a break from this place for a few hours anyway."

"Sounds like fun."

"Neal, if there was anything I could do…"

"I know, Peter. And I appreciate it, I really do."

"Anyway, I thought I'd help you pass some time tonight." Peter reached down for the bag and pulled out a six-pack of Heisler Gold. "It's not that local brew from San Pedro, but I think it'll do."

Neal sat down again and accepted the bottle Peter passed over. "So what do we talk about?"

"Oh, let's see. Maybe you could finally tell me how you pulled that Degas switch."

Neal grinned as he twisted the top off of the bottle. "Peter, I _did_ tell you."

Peter was opening his own beer, but he paused to stare across the table. "The BASE-jump story? For real?"

Neal nodded, tipping the bottle up for a sip. "Did you really think it was chance that your elevator car got stuck?"

"How?" Peter caught himself, shook his head. "Mozzie."

"He had an elevator override. Once your car was stopped, he opened another one for me."

"I locked you in that utility room and took your lock picks." Peter paused, taking in Neal's small half-smile and shrug. "You had a back-up."

"Several. And it wasn't exactly a high security door. I waited until the guard was busy dealing with your stuck elevator, snuck past, went up to the penthouse, found the original Degas, and made the switch."

"But you didn't have the copy on you."

"Moz took it up earlier, with the chute, hidden in a bazooka case."

"We did confiscate a bazooka."

"I hear they're all the rage for international arms dealers."

"But Richmond was a dangerous man. Giving him a bazooka…"

"We made sure it wouldn't fire, and it's not like he could test it in the middle of Manhattan anyway. It only had to impress him enough that he'd keep it up there. But the tube was just the right size for the painting, and the BASE chute fit underneath."

"That's… frighteningly ingenious."

"Peter, I was standing out on the balcony when you and Diana came in. And all I could think was, I wished I was the one with you."

Neal set his bottle down, and Peter pretended not to notice how his hand shook. "And then you just jumped?"

"Yeah. I'd done it before. After I landed I handed the painting off to Mozzie, he picked up the chute, while I snuck back into the utility room and waited for you."

"That was quite the plan."

"It was the only play I had, Peter," Neal said, his voice so soft the agent had to lean closer over the table to even hear him. "If you found the original Degas, you'd know the U-boat treasure was real, and I would have lost everything." Neal put his elbows on the table, and buried his face against his hands. "I just wanted to be able to stay, Peter. I just wanted to stay."

Peter set his beer down and got up, walking to the other side of the table. He sat down, one arm going to his friend's shoulder. "I know, Neal," he whispered. "I know."

* * *

The hearing was two and a half weeks away. To Peter, that barely seemed long enough as he tried to make arrangements for witnesses, and get statements from the victims Neal had helped during his cases with the FBI.

To Neal, it could just as well have been two and a half years. He went through a couple more sketch pads, and another set of charcoals. Between updates on Kramer's case, and other arrangements he needed to make, he used up the time on the prepaid cell phone, and Jones put another thousand minutes on a card.

The minutes came in handy when he was finally able to talk to Mozzie directly, thanks to some cyber-wizardry on Sally's behalf. It was good to hear his friend's voice, to know that he was all right. Given Neal's current location, they didn't talk about where Mozzie had wound up.

_If Mozzie – Bob – had stuck to the original plan they'd had in case of emergency, he was probably relaxing in the shadow of the Parthenon…_

Neal even managed to convince Mozzie to _not_ come back to New York – at least not yet. If the hearing went well, there was no hurry. And if it didn't go well…

_In that case, Neal would really have plenty of time._

The day before the hearing, June stopped by with Neal's favorite black pinstripe suit and all of the accessories. That night, Peter brought the final witness list, and an awkward pep talk.

In the morning, the marshals arrived to escort Neal to the hearing.


	14. Define Justice

**_A/N: Chapters 14 and 15 are excerpts from the testimony presented at Neal's probation hearing. Most of the witnesses are in Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 is for Peter and Neal. If you don't want to read the testimony, skip to Chapter 16 and see how things wrap up :-) _**

* * *

**IN RE: Probation hearing of Neal George Caffrey**

Hearing Board: Amanda Cabot (Chair), Lionel Jefferson, Walton Biggs

Witness List (alphabetical order): Laszlo Alphonse, Diana Berrigan, Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke, June Ellington, Sara Ellis, Clinton Jones. The offices of the U.S. Attorney, and the New York State Attorney, reserved the right to present evidence but did not provide witnesses.

Additional Testimony: Certified testimony from the FBI files concerning the actions of Philip Kramer has been reviewed and will be taken into consideration. Victim statements from FBI files have been accepted as evidence. Written statements were accepted from Special Agent in Charge Reese Hughes and former FBI agent Garrett Fowler.

Question before the Board: Is there substantial mitigating evidence to justify a departure from the standard sentencing guidelines and allow the respondent, Neal George Caffrey, to retain his probationary arrangement with the FBI.

_The following excerpts are from testimony presented at this hearing. The full transcript has been filed with the Department of Justice, Probation Division._

_Board: State your name for the record._

N. Caffrey: Neal George Caffrey

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, do you understand why you are appearing before the Board today?_

NC: I do. I violated the terms of my probation agreement by disabling the electronic monitoring anklet I was assigned and fleeing the jurisdiction. Under the terms of that agreement, these actions could result in my return to prison, potentially for the rest of my life. While taking no official position on the matter, the U.S. Attorney's office has allowed a petition to be filed on my behalf, requesting that possible mitigating evidence be presented to the Board.

_Board: Were you advised that, given the potential adverse outcome of this hearing, you are entitled to legal representation?_

NC: I was. I have elected to not have a lawyer present.

_Board: And you are freely admitting to the charges related to fleeing the jurisdiction?_

NC: Yes, ma'am. I cut the anklet, and I left the country.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, approximately three months ago you first appeared before this Board. At the time, the question was whether you had earned a commutation of your sentence. That option is no longer on the table. Do you understand that?_

NC: I do.

_Board: Over the next few days, the Board will hear testimony from the witnesses submitted. At the end of that time, you will be permitted to make a final statement before we make our decision. Do you have any questions?_

NC: No, ma'am. I understand fully. I'm just grateful for this opportunity.

_***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

J. Ellington: June Ellington

_Board: Mrs. Ellington, from your previous testimony, you are Mr. Caffrey's landlady?_

JE: That is how we met, yes. I'd like to think that sharing the same address is secondary now to the friendship we have developed.

_Board: You are aware that Mr. Caffrey is facing a new criminal charge of escape and fleeing the jurisdiction?_

JE: I am aware of that, yes.

_Board: Since Mr. Caffrey has admitted to the facts of this newest charge, we take the escape charge as proven. This is, then, the third criminal charge of which he has been found guilty. That doesn't worry you when it comes to having him reside under your roof?_

JE: Not at all. Let me make one thing very clear. I am not some doddering old fool who was hoodwinked by a nice smile and big blue eyes. I may reside on Riverside Drive now, but that's not where I started. I worked my way up from the streets. I've seen con artists my entire life, both the good and the bad. Neal Caffrey may have charmed his way into my home, but he did not con his way in. He never lied about who or what he was to me.

My late husband was also a convicted felon. As a younger man, he also ran some cons, and managed an illegal gambling operation. But I could see through the surface swagger, and I knew that underneath he had a good heart. Ultimately, that's the path he chose. We raised three beautiful daughters together, and he got to be a doting grandfather to five grandchildren before he passed. In many ways, Neal is a lot like Byron.

_Board: In what way are they alike?_

JE: The good heart. I've had many a late night chat with Neal, over a glass of wine or brandy. Times when he's relaxed, and not trying to put on any mask. He wants the same things we all do – a place to belong, friends, family. He had thought for a long time that those were things he wasn't destined to have in his life, but more recently he had started to believe in them, and actively strive for them.

_Board: In your opinion, is Mr. Caffrey capable of making that change for real, to become a functioning member of society and not a habitual criminal?_

JE: Absolutely! I've seen the change in him from the time he first came to live in that apartment until now. As I said the last time, I consider Neal to be as good as a son to me. He _is_ family.

I would never allow anyone near my grandchildren if I thought there was any danger. If we were talking about a killer, an armed robber, a rapist… well, that would be totally different. But Neal is none of those things. He'll talk himself out of a tight situation in preference to violence.

_Board: If this Board determines that Mr. Caffrey should be given one more chance to stay out of prison, would you be willing to keep him on as a tenant?_

JE: Oh, of course! I've kept the guest suite just as he left it, in the hope that he would be back.

Let me just say that Neal Caffrey has never been anything but kind and respectful to me. To lock him up again, especially under these circumstances, would be a tragedy.

_Board: Thank you, Mrs. Ellington. Your testimony has been very helpful._

___***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

E. Burke: Elizabeth Burke

_Board: And your relationship to Mr. Caffrey?_

EB: My husband, Peter Burke, has been Neal's partner at the FBI. Beyond that, Neal is also a personal friend.

_Board: Ms. Burke, referring back to your testimony the last time this Board was reviewing Mr. Caffrey's status, it seems that you do have some hesitation about being able to trust him. I believe you mentioned not wanting him to date your sister._

EB: You know, after those words came out, I thought more about it, and realized I was wrong. If either of my sisters was single, I wouldn't worry at all about one of them dating Neal.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I'd still warn her about that smile of his! And not because I think he's going to try and steal her life's savings, or drag her into a plot to steal a Monet or something. It would more be a case of wanting her to take her time, to get to know the real Neal. And I think she'd like him.

_Board: Do you feel that you know the real Mr. Caffrey?_

EB: I do. Neal is a very complex man and yet, at the heart of it all, he wants simple things. I think it took him a while to realize that – that it wasn't the thrill of a con that would really make him happy.

_Board: What is it that you think Mr. Caffrey wants?_

EB: A place to belong. Friends. Family.

Working with my husband has shown Neal a real life that he once dreamed of, but had thought he could never have. Now he knows it's not so far out of reach as he thought.

It's not all one-sided though. Working with Neal has changed my husband too, in good ways. Seeing things through a set of eyes that haven't been through Quantico has made Peter a better agent. And even in our personal life, Peter has become more spontaneous. He's even learned to flirt.

_Board: You consider your husband flirting to be a positive change?_

EB: As long as he's flirting with me, absolutely!

_Board: If this Board does find cause to set aside the recommended sentencing guidelines, and reinstate Mr. Caffrey's probation, he would again be your husband's partner with the FBI. From your testimony, it appears you would have no objection to this._

EB: Absolutely no objection. In fact, I would consider that the best outcome for both Peter and Neal.

Peter and Neal work well together. I can't even tell you how many late nights they've spent at our dining room table, tossing around the facts of a case over a beer. They each bring something special to the table, and when they make a breakthrough, well, it's fun to watch. They get as excited as kids sometimes.

And, as I told you before, there is no doubt in my mind that when it counts, Neal will come through. This whole hearing is only happening because he voluntarily came back to New York to help my husband. Neal knew what the consequences could be for him, and he still came. How could you ask anything more of a partner, and a friend?

_Board: Thank you, Ms. Burke. Your testimony has been very helpful_.

_***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

S. Ellis: Sara Ellis.

_Board: And your relationship to Mr. Caffrey?_

SE: [LAUGHS] Wow, that's a good question. Friends. Yes, we're friends.

_Board: How did you meet Mr. Caffrey?_

SE: We first met in person shortly after he was arrested by Agent Burke over six years ago now. I arranged an interview to question him about a missing Raphael painting that my company insured. But I knew _of_ him prior to that, when Agent Burke first told me that Neal was a suspect in the theft.

_Board: When this Board met previously you indicated that the painting in question had been recovered. Did you establish if Mr. Caffrey was, in fact, the original thief?_

SE: As I told you previously, six years ago, when I believed Neal was the thief, I went after him with everything I had to try and prove it. He was acquitted by a jury, and I don't know of any other suspects, so I'm not sure we'll ever know all of the details about the original theft. But I can tell you that Neal authenticated the painting for Sterling-Bosch when we recovered it. Mr. Bosch was quite thrilled to have a Raphael expert of Neal's caliber available. In fact, _when_ Neal's obligation to the FBI is finished, Mr. Bosch is interested in offering him a position.

_Board: So you're saying that the fact that Mr. Caffrey was acquitted allowed you to move past your initial antagonistic association and enter into a romantic relationship with him?_

SE: Well, what really allowed that to happen is that Neal changed. When I met him again, nearly five years later, it was through a case that tied in with both Sterling-Bosch and the FBI. Neal was an integral part of solving that case.

What I found out later was that he had recently suffered a very deep personal loss. It turned out that there were things we could both do to help each other and, well, I realized that spending time with him wasn't really so bad after all. In fact, he was funny, charming, intelligent. Eventually, we became more than just friends.

_Board: That relationship had ended, however, before your last appearance here, had it not?_

SE: Yes, we were no longer seeing each other in a dating sense. But we had recently worked together on another case, and we were talking again. That's why I agreed to testify on his behalf in the first place. And before you ask, there was no pressure on his part for me to do that. In fact, Neal didn't even tell me about the hearing, Peter Burke did.

_Board: One of the things this Board will consider is whether Mr. Caffrey has sufficient support around him to make it unlikely that he would revert to a life of crime. Do you see yourself remaining a part of his life?_

SE: I hope so. I don't know what role it would be – friend, or something more. But I do know for a fact that I would miss him if he was no longer a part of my life at all.

_Board: Thank you, Ms. Ellis. Your testimony was very helpful._

_____***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

C. Jones: Clinton Jones.

_Board: And how is it that you know Mr. Caffrey?_

CJ: I'm an agent with the White Collar division in the New York FBI office. I report directly to Agent Burke. Neal is a colleague on that team.

_Board: Is it difficult, as a trained federal agent, to work with someone of Mr. Caffrey's background?_

CJ: I'll admit, at first it was a little strange. But I was there from the very first case he worked with us, and even then, he brought something new to the table. And he is _smart._ Between him and Agent Burke, well, they make all of us raise our game. I guess, after a while, he just became part of the team. I mean, it's not like we forget he's not an agent. It's something we always have to keep in mind.

_Board: Does that have a negative impact on how you do your job?_

CJ: Not at all. It just means that we have to plan a little different. Neal is not an agent, he doesn't have the same training for certain situations that the rest of us have, and he doesn't carry a gun. We factor that in when we plan an undercover mission for him. Like, we know that if a meet goes bad, we have an unarmed civilian in there as well as the suspects.

_Board: It seems like that would make your job more dangerous._

CJ: Not if things are planned right, and Agent Burke makes sure of that. And I'll tell you, Neal is no coward. He isn't going to panic, which is where things could really get dangerous.

As a matter of fact, if Neal was a coward or given to panic, I wouldn't even be here today. We had a case where he was going undercover to set up a sting to grab a guy who'd stolen sixty million. The rest of the team was in place where the arrest was supposed to go down, but I was tailing Neal in case he needed help. Except it turned out I was the one that needed help. Neal saved my life by literally stepping between me and a loaded gun held by a panicky suspect. Then he improvised, got me free, and saved the case.

_Board: And yet in your previous testimony you recommended against the commutation of his sentence._

CJ: I did. Regardless of his motivation at the time, he did escape from prison. I considered the additional four year sentence he got for that to be justice, and I thought he should serve it out.

_Board: What if the decision at that time had, in fact, been to commute Mr. Caffrey's sentence and set him free?_

CJ: Well, I also told you I considered him a friend. I still do. I would have been happy for my friend. And the thing is, I had to think long and hard about what I was going to say to you. Like I said, he saved my life. Maybe law school and Quantico just ingrained the idea of paying your debts in me a little bit stronger.

_Board: In your opinion, Agent Jones, what represents justice under the current circumstances?_

CJ: I can tell you that sending Neal to prison for the rest of his life would definitely not feel like justice. Not with everything we know about why he ran, and all of the people who had a hand in that.

_Board: So his first escape was not justified, but his second was?_

CJ: I don't even want to talk about justified. When Neal ran a few months ago, his hand was forced by a senior FBI official who way overstepped his authority and, in fact, wanted to use Neal to complete a crime that was started over thirty years ago. Neal shouldn't have to pay with his life for that.

So what do I think would be justice? Neal should still serve out the remaining time he had on the first escape sentence. Reinstate his probation with the Bureau. That's justice enough for me.

_Board: Thank you, Agent Jones. Your testimony has been very helpful._

___***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

D. Berrigan: Diana Berrigan.

_Board: And your relationship to Mr. Caffrey?_

DB: I'm a member of Peter Burke's team at the FBI. The same team Neal is a part of.

_Board: It's interesting that you still refer to Mr. Caffrey as a part of that team. Has he not, in fact, been gone for approximately three months as a result of his escape?_

DB: There's a saying about being gone but not forgotten. Neal may not physically have been here, but his presence was felt.

_Board: Can you elaborate?_

DB: Neal just brings something new to the table. I guess it's because of his background. When he looks at a case, he doesn't automatically wonder how it would be categorized at Quantico. We have plenty of agents who can do that. After working with him for so many months, not having him there was very strange. Many times we'd find ourselves wondering what Neal would do, or trying to take on his role to come up with out of the box solutions. And actually, no one will even take his desk. It's still referred to as Neal's desk and even the new probies know that means it's off limits.

_Board: So Mr. Caffrey's contributions to the FBI were positive, in your opinion?_

DB: Mostly, yes. Oh, sometimes he could be frustrating as hell. But when a case was on the line, way more often than not, he came through.

Actually, some of the frustration might have been because he did offer so much, so many skills. It would have been nice if he had applied them to the right side of the law from the beginning.

_Board: Did you work with Mr. Caffrey during his entire time with the FBI?_

DB: No. I was actually there for his very first case. He was fresh out of prison, still facing four years after escaping. He didn't know any of the procedures, and, honestly, not everyone on the team thought that having him there was a good idea.

_Board: What about you?_

DB: To be honest, I wasn't sure. But I trusted Agent Burke's judgment. We were after a forger – had been after him for quite a while. Neal quickly brought in some new leads, allowing us to close the case. It was actually fun seeing how he worked, and I was almost sorry to leave. But I had had a transfer to the DC office in the works for some time already at that point.

_Board: But you came back to New York at some point?_

DB: Yes, Agent Burke asked me to come back about seven months later. I liked DC, but there was a lot to recommend working for Agent Burke as well. And it was a good move to come back.

_Board: You're certainly aware that the new charges of escape and fleeing the jurisdiction leave Mr. Caffrey potentially subject to a life sentence, and also that this Board has the authority to recommend an alternate sentence if warranted. We asked your colleague, Agent Jones, what he would consider justice in this case, and that question is now directed to you._

DB: Neal has made some mistakes. Maybe a lot of mistakes. But he has also helped a lot of people. I think that should be what you focus on. Locking him away doesn't benefit anyone that I can see. And it would hurt his friends, colleagues, and all of the victims he would be able to assist by coming back to the FBI.

Last time, I said he should finish out his two years. That still makes sense to me.

_Board: Thank you, Agent Berrigan. Your testimony has been very helpful._

___***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

L. Alphonse: Laszlo Alphonse.

_Board: And your relationship with Mr. Caffrey?_

LA: I'm an agent with the Fugitive Retrieval unit of the FBI. I was sent to find Neal Caffrey about three months ago after he fled the jurisdiction.

I'm also the agent who wouldn't be sitting here today if Neal Caffrey hadn't saved my life.

_Board: Please elaborate._

LA: There was a rumor Caffrey might be in Belize, so I went to check it out. While I was there, I got a tip that he might be on one of the small islands off the coast. Except that island turned out to be a drug runner's hideout, and I got caught in a shootout. I was wounded, don't think I could have made it back to my boat by myself. That's when Caffrey showed up.

_Board: So was he, in fact, living on that island?_

LA: No. He'd heard that I got sent out there, and he came to try and stop me. I'd already been shot by the time he got there though. He came in while I was under fire. Caffrey returned fire, got the other guys to take cover, and then got me out of there.

_Board: You said Mr. Caffrey returned fire. He was armed?_

LA: He had my gun.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey stole your gun?_

LA: No. He used my gun to get us both out of there alive.

_Board: Was your weapon returned?_

LA: Apparently it fell overboard during our escape. My handcuffs too.

_Board: And you accept that as what happened?_

LA: I have no evidence to the contrary.

_Board: Did Mr. Caffrey know who you were, and why you were in Belize, at the time?_

LA: Yes, he did. And believe me, I was a little curious why he'd risk his life coming in after me, instead of just running.

_Board: Presumably you asked?_

LA: He said a dead agent didn't fit with his plans or his conscience.

Look, the fact is, Caffrey saved my life. He walked into a dangerous situation and pulled me out. Then he made sure I had medical care. And, yeah, he made sure I was out of the way for a few days while he left the country, but from what I hear, he just came back here anyway.

And there's something else. Caffrey's case never made sense to me. He wasn't a violent criminal, and usually the only white collar guys we get sent after are the major Ponzi scheme ones who made off with millions and left hundreds of victims. Caffrey didn't meet the usual criteria for my unit to be called in. But I guess I'm used to just taking the cases I'm assigned without asking too many questions. When he left me in safe hands to recover, he also left me some reading material, about what was going on. I guess I learned a lesson, to listen to my gut instincts when a case doesn't feel right. And sometimes, your quarry can turn out to be more honorable than the man who sent you on the hunt.

_Board: Agent Alphonse, this Board is determining whether mitigating factors should override the presumed life sentence Mr. Caffrey could receive. What would your recommendation be?_

LA: Ma'am, I had no evidence at all that Caffrey was in Belize, just a rumor. If I had wound up dead, or just plain missing, no one could have tied it to him. He knew that, and he still risked his life for me. Now I'm usually a pretty strict law and order guy, but I just don't see how it would be justice to lock a man like that up for the rest of his life.

_Board: Thank you, Agent Alphonse. Your testimony has been very helpful._


	15. Partners

_Board: State your name for the record._

P. Burke: Peter Burke.

_Board: And, for the record, your relationship to Mr. Caffrey._

PB: My relationship with Neal Caffrey has taken a number of different forms over the years. Initially, I was the FBI agent assigned to investigate his case, and I was the agent who ultimately arrested him. A few years later, when Neal was released to work for the FBI, I became the supervising agent and, eventually, his partner at the Bureau.

Most importantly, I'm his friend.

_Board: Agent Burke, it was at your request that this hearing was called. Please explain why you consider the mitigating evidence adequate to override the clear sentencing guidelines in this case._

PB: To do that, I'd like to tell you a little about my history with Neal, beyond the black and white facts that you'll see in the files.

_Board: Proceed._

PB: James Bonds – that's the nickname we assigned to Neal before we knew his name. Part of that was because the first hint that the FBI had of his work was an expertly forged bond. But as we delved deeper into his case, and started suspecting him of other crimes, there was a pattern of high class, elegant work. Sometimes almost a playfulness. He sent champagne to the surveillance van one time when we were trying to catch him on a museum heist.

_Board: But Mr. Caffrey's only conviction was for bond forgery?_

PB: That is true. There were actually several different charges brought against him, but the jury acquitted him of all except the bond forgery.

I'd like to go back to how we caught him though. He was good, damn good. And he could disappear after a job like few others I've ever seen. But he did have a weakness, and her name was Kate Moreau. He was desperate to find her. My team found her first and leaked a rumor about where she would be, hoping to draw him out. And it worked. He saw the surveillance van, but he walked in anyway, because that's what Kate meant to him. And when we came in, guns drawn, he didn't try to run, or fight, or even cause a scene. In fact, you know what he did? He held out his hand and said thank you. I was arresting him, and yet he was shaking my hand and thanking me, because he'd found Kate again.

I guess I just think it's important for you to know what Neal was like, even then, before he'd renounced a life of crime. Believe me, no one else has ever thanked me for arresting them, before or after that.

_Board: The previous probation agreement was entered into following Mr. Caffrey's escape from prison. Is that correct?_

PB: Yes. He escaped with about three months left on his original four year sentence.

Since I had caught Neal the first time, I was called in. I have to tell you, I was damn impressed. It only took him a little over a month to walk out the door of a maximum security facility. And I think it's important to point out how he accomplished that feat. He didn't cause a riot to cover his escape, no one was hurt. It was just a brilliant con and misdirection.

Fortunately, everything led back to Kate again, and that's where I found him, at her last known address. As I mentioned in the previous hearing, he was just sitting on the floor of an empty apartment with nothing, and no one. Well, he had one thing, I guess. He had an empty wine bottle that had meant something to him and to Kate.

It was just the two of us in that room for several minutes but, like before, he didn't try to run or fight. In fact, he actually joked about how I was wearing the same suit as the first time I arrested him. Then he gave me a lead on my current case. And he asked for two simple things in exchange. He wanted a meeting, and he asked me to take care of the wine bottle.

Long story short, Neal's lead was right on the money – literally, on the money. So I agreed to meet with him.

_Board: This meeting is when you initiated the probation agreement?_

PB: Well, it's when Neal first proposed the idea. I figured he was trying to play me, and I walked out of there.

But the thing is, we'd been after this suspect for quite a while. This case was the Dutchman, after the way the guy seemed to slip away and then just mysteriously reappear later. We weren't having any luck finding the guy using normal FBI tactics. So, eventually, I looked into the possibility of getting Neal released to assist on the case.

Honestly, I more than half figured I was setting myself up to be chasing him again. But I was wrong. Oh, I'm sure, in those early days, Neal was looking for ways to get around that tracking anklet. The thing is though, he did help solve the case. We had our suspect's real name, a location, and what he was after, all due to Neal's skills and contacts.

It was enough to convince me that it was worth extending the arrangement. That's when we started the probation agreement for the remainder of his four year escape sentence.

_Board: You had completed approximately two years of that agreement when this Board held the first hearing three months ago. How would you characterize that time?_

PB: Like all new relationships, it had its ups and downs.

Look, I'm not going to sugarcoat things. It hasn't all been smooth. But there were a lot more of the downs at the beginning, and a lot more of the ups later on.

We threw Neal into a world that was the polar opposite of what he'd been used to. He had to learn and abide by a whole new set of rules, when he was used to making up his own rules as he went along. Sometimes those two worlds clashed. But when a case was on the line, and we needed an undercover job, he delivered. And as time went on, his contributions were more and more proactive.

You know, I remember the day I first used the word partner to him. I hadn't really considered the implications, I guess, but Neal… Well, you should have seen the way he lit up. It was the affirmation he needed that he was making a difference.

And I couldn't ask for a better partner. I…

_Board: Agent Burke?_

PB: [UNCLEAR]

_Board: Agent Burke, if you need a moment._

PB: No, it's fine.

Neal Caffrey is a man of amazing contradictions at times. He's probably the smartest man I've ever met, but he never finished high school. He hates paperwork, but when he has to, he can put together a report that, quite frankly, puts most of my agents to shame. Most of the time his reports even come with illustrations.

He can blend into almost any role. I remember one case where we were after a boiler room operation that was artificially inflating the value of stocks and then cashing out, leaving investors with worthless pieces of paper. I was on the other end of the phone, playing his mark, while he was trying to land the inside job. I knew it was a scam, but you know, another few minutes and I might have bought for real. He was that good.

_Board: Agent Burke, Mr. Caffrey has admitted to removing the electronic monitoring anklet and fleeing the jurisdiction. In essence, he has pled guilty. What do you consider the strongest evidence that we should overlook this?_

PB: I don't think you should overlook it at all. But I do think you should look at the reasons why Neal did what he did.

You've been supplied with all of the relevant documents and testimony regarding what Philip Kramer tried to do to Neal. It was those actions, by a senior member of the FBI acting under color of authority that led Neal to do what he did. You've also seen the evidence that Kramer's plan went far beyond even what we knew when Neal left. Asking Neal to pay the full price for this, at the cost of spending the rest of his life in prison, is not justice.

I think you also need to look at the real reason we're sitting here today. Neal Caffrey disappeared as thoroughly as anyone possibly could. No one, not even the Fugitive Retrieval unit, had found any trace of him leaving the country. Despite international BOLOs with cooperating countries, there hadn't been a single credible report of his whereabouts. But because he… [UNCLEAR]

_Board: Take your time, Agent Burke._

PB: [UNCLEAR] Thank you.

Neal had found the closest thing he'd had to a family for a very long time. He had a home, a _life_ here. Because he was forced to leave the place and the people he loved, he didn't just hide away somewhere. He kept digging, wanting to know why. And he found out. When he learned that Philip Kramer was going after me, Neal didn't just send the evidence he had. No, he came himself, because that would have the most impact. He knew what the possible, even probable, consequences were for himself, but he came anyway. And that's why we're here. Not because Neal was tracked down and dragged back to face justice. No, we're here, at this hearing, because he freely came back to make sure Kramer was stopped, and to save me.

It's not the first time he's saved me, or someone else.

_Board: Agent Jones testified about one such incident. As did Agent Alphonse._

PB: From the case reports, both of them owe their lives to Neal. As do I, more than once. I provided the case files for you.

_Board: We do have those files in evidence. Now, this Board is tasked with upholding the law. Does granting an exception to the sentencing guidelines in this instance meet that goal?_

PB: You know, I've been an FBI agent for almost eighteen years. I believe in the law. And not long ago, I would have told you that the law was one size fits all, no exceptions.

Working with Neal has made me see that that's not necessarily the case. I still believe in the law, and that justice should be served. But there are a lot of shades of grey in there, not just black and white. Each case – each _person_ – needs to be evaluated individually.

_Board: Agent Burke, what is justice in this case, in your opinion?_

PB: As I understand it, justice should look to serve the interests of all parties involved.

Justice does not serve Neal Caffrey by locking him up indefinitely. After his service with the FBI, he'd be held in segregation, with virtually no human contact. For someone like Neal, that would be a living death.

That also wouldn't seem like justice to his friends, his family. I don't even want to think about the void that would cause in our lives.

But most importantly, justice should look at what best serves and protects society. Now, it's true that Neal is a felon. He's committed thefts, forgeries, confidence schemes. Look at the man he had become through two years of working with the FBI though. Read those case files, and the statements from the people he helped. Think of all the people he can continue to help if you reinstate his probation.

And no, it's not that I _can't_ do my job without him. I did it just fine without him for fifteen years. But I do it _better_ with Neal. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind. Just as there is no doubt in my mind that, although he may still struggle at times, with the guidance of his friends and colleagues, Neal will continue to make the right choices.

Justice… is to give me back my partner.

_Board: Thank you, Agent Burke. Your testimony has been very helpful._

___***s*s***_

_Board: State your name for the record._

N. Caffrey: Neal George Caffrey.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, the Board has heard testimony over the last two days from a number of witnesses. This is your opportunity to make a final statement before we adjourn to consider your case. Do you have any questions about the procedure?_

NC: No, ma'am. I understand what's happening.

_Board: You are still waiving the presence and advice of an attorney?_

NC: Yes, ma'am.

_Board: But you have requested that Agent Burke be present for your testimony, is that correct?_

NC: I have, yes. I've asked him here, as a friend, for moral support. If that's all right?

_Board: The Board has no objection. Now, there are a few outstanding questions, but if you have a statement, you may make it now._

NC: I do. I want you to know that I was being absolutely honest the last time my case was before you. I told you I had no plans to go anywhere, and that was the truth as I knew it at the time. I was, as yet, unaware of Agent Kramer's latest plan against me.

It took me a long time to realize it, but I had everything I wanted right here. I had a home – the first place I had actually called _home_, and not just a place to stay, since I turned eighteen. I had friends; again, not something I was used to. In my previous life I had occasional partners, numerous acquaintances who provided assistance on various jobs. And I had a handful of people who were an intimate part of my life, but they were also part of the _life_ – thieves, fences, con artists. But for the first time in a _very_ long time, I let people into my life. If you had told me a few years ago that I would ever call an FBI agent a friend, I would have laughed at you. Maybe told you not to try and con a con artist. Except now, there are several agents I consider friends – and who, amazingly, use that word to refer to me too.

And people outside of the FBI too. Honestly, I don't know how long I could have made it at the motel I was originally taken to when my probation started. Fortunately, I didn't have to find out. Whatever stroke of fate brought June Ellington to that thrift shop on that day, at that time… well, it was a stroke of luck I've given thanks for so many times. Or Sara Ellis. She's an amazing woman, and somehow we managed to go from adversaries, to lovers, to friends.

In many ways, I found the family I'd been missing for fifteen years. And I came to realize that family isn't about blood. It's about letting people into your life, and being let into their lives. They're the people who would do anything for you, and who you'd do anything for in return.

I had a good job too. Working with Peter – Agent Burke – I had found a way to use my skills to help people, not just take from them. I had a purpose in my life. In fact, I had told Agent Burke just before he came to testify before you that, anklet or no, I'd be at work on Monday like usual.

_Board: You were content with your status on probation, with the electronic monitoring anklet?_

NC: Someone had recently told me that I had the dream, just with a tracking anklet. It surprised me somewhat when I realized he was right.

As I recall, I told you that waking up the next day with no anklet, answerable only to myself, would have meant everything. But not because I wanted to go anywhere. In fact, you know what I would have done? There was this neighborhood pub, two point one miles from home. I'd see it sometimes when I was out walking, and I wanted to go so badly. I mean, for all I know, the food is lousy and they water down the beer, but the thing is, without the anklet, I _could_ go. And that weekend, after the hearing? There was a show opening at a gallery point four miles too far away. It was something I really wanted to see, and I could have gone.

And sure, I always wanted to go to Paris again someday. But just to visit, not to stay. There's this little gallery, not far from the banks of the Seine, where I actually sold some original artwork, and I always meant to go back. Without the anklet, I could have actually planned a vacation.

But the thing is, nothing major had to change. I really wanted to go to that pub, but if it took another two years, it would have been all right.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, is it your testimony then that you were satisfied with your job, and the duties it entailed?_

NC: Yes ma'am. I could have done with less paperwork, or fewer hours sitting in a van on stakeouts. But overall, I found the job very satisfying. The people I worked with made it that way.

_Board: I understand that additional information has come to light since the time of the previous hearing. However, at the time, the available information was that Agent Kramer wanted you to come to work in Washington, DC, doing approximately the same job. What about that scenario would drive you to run?_

NC: It's true that the job duties probably would have been similar, though certainly not the conditions.

You see, Agent Kramer didn't just want me in DC for the remaining two years of my existing sentence. He was actively trying to find something – anything – to get me tied to the FBI for much longer.

Maybe that was the biggest thing. Peter – Agent Burke – always tried to show me that I could be more than what I was before. Agent Kramer only cared who I had been, and what skills he could use.

_Board: Do you believe that Agent Kramer was considering the ninety four percent conviction rate you and Agent Burke enjoyed in New York?_

NC: I have to believe that was part of his thinking. He expected that, even as he was using me as bait, he'd also get the benefit of an improved conviction rate on his cases.

The thing is though, it wouldn't have worked.

_Board: And why is that?_

NC: Peter – sorry, Agent Burke…

_Board: We'll take it as understood if you refer to Agent Burke by his first name._

NC: Yes, ma'am.

The thing is, Peter and I work together well because of some unique things between us. Most importantly, I respect him. I respected him even when he was chasing me. And I believe he respects me too. I mean, more than just the skills I bring. He at least treats me with respect.

Agent Kramer just wanted to use me. He might respect my skills, but not _me._ And how could I respect someone like that?

And I like Peter. As I said, realizing that a federal agent was a friend, that took some getting used to. For a while I even tried to deny it to myself. But I do like him. And, most of the time anyway, I think he likes me too.

Agent Kramer never took the time to get to know me at all. And how could I ever like someone who wanted to take me away from everything that meant something to me?

There's a matter of trust too. I once told Peter that out of everyone in my life, he was the only one I really trusted. I was a little out of it at the time from some drugs a suspect had injected me with, so I'm not sure if he totally believed me. But I meant it. He pretty much trusts me on cases too. Outside of cases… well, we were working on the trust.

Knowing what I do about Agent Kramer, trust was never going to happen, on either side.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, the burden in this hearing was on you, and your witnesses, to establish cause for the Board to overrule the standard sentence for a second escape. Do you feel you've done that?_

NC: I guess that depends on the underlying goal of this hearing. Before, when commutation was on the table, you pointed out that I had come into the system as a criminal, but that you wanted to know who I had become, if I had changed. If that's still the criteria, then yes, I believe I have shown you that I'm a different man now. A better man. I'm not perfect, and I probably never will be. But there are a lot of people who have come to care about me, and they make sure I keep trying.

But you've also pointed out that this hearing is of a more punitive nature than the previous one. The truth is, I've done a lot of things that would not be considered legal. If you're just looking at the legal versus illegal, the good versus the bad, without looking at _when_ those acts took place… Well, I don't know that I can balance things out. Not yet anyway.

A wise man once told me that you just have to do what's right, and let the pieces fall where they may. I did what was right, in the end. I found the answers we needed, and I came back. What happens now, happens.

_Board: Mr. Caffrey, this next question is hypothetical, and in no way reflects a decision by this Board. But assume for the moment that the life sentence is upheld. Would you accept a modified release agreement to continue working here in New York with Agent Burke?_

NC: [UNCLEAR]

_Board: Mr. Caffrey? Agent Burke, if Mr. Caffrey needs a short recess…_

NC: No. I apologize, ma'am.

And the answer to your question is no.

_Board: Even though it would allow you to continue work you have said you enjoy, and to stay here with your friends?_

NC: With all due respect, ma'am, the conditions you're suggesting would change everything.

When Agent Burke first arrested me, and I was convicted on the bond forgery charge, I didn't see how I was going to make it through four years in prison. But I got credit for the months I'd spent in jail, waiting for trial, so by the time I got to Sing Sing, it was only three years and five months. Getting used to prison routine took a few weeks, and then it was three years and four months. Despite my initial fear, the time was counting down, and there _was_ an end.

Then I escaped, and wound up with additional time added on. Two things helped me there. Obviously, working with Peter was the biggest factor. The tracking anklet always reminded me I was in a prison of sorts, but I had some freedom. I developed those friendships, learned to at least mostly work within the rules with the FBI, and got to enjoy one of the best views of Manhattan from my window. And at the heart of all of that was another countdown – four years. I'd done it once, under far less pleasant circumstances, so I knew I could do it again.

That didn't mean it was always easy. So many times, people at the office would be talking about weekend plans, or vacations. Then they'd realize I was there and apologize because, of course, I couldn't do that. But really it was all right, and I told them that, because I would be able to one day. It might be three years off, or two years and five months, or whatever, but there was, again, an end. I could look forward to that and, in the meantime, live vicariously through my coworkers and friends.

But to know, for a certainty, that I could never even hope to see Paris again, or go to the beach for a weekend, or even have a beer at that pub… Well, without that hope, that knowledge that there was an end somewhere, I don't think I could do it. Because it wouldn't just be that I knew there was no end. Everyone else would know that too. To see the pity in their eyes, every day, knowing that there was nothing else ahead. How could that possibly work?

No, if you decide that justice is best served by upholding the life sentence, then you should send me to the place of no hope. It would be the kinder mercy, for everyone.

_Board: Is there anything else you'd like us to consider before we close, Mr. Caffrey?_

NC: No, ma'am. As I said in my opening statement, I do appreciate this opportunity to be heard. But I think you have all of the information you need to make a decision.

_Board: Thank you, Mr. Caffrey. You'll be notified when a decision is made._


	16. End Game

As usual, the waiting was the hardest part.

Neal had, somehow, made it until the Board members left the hearing room before collapsing against Peter's shoulder. And he wasn't sure yet how long they had sat there like that. At some point the marshals had come into the room. He knew Peter had held them off for a while, but then he'd been handcuffed and returned to Hawthorne.

And here he sat, waiting. Pacing. Staring at nothing. His hand shook too much to sketch, his mind was too filled with thoughts and questions to read a book.

He had tried to read the written evidence that had been submitted to the probation board. Peter had done an excellent job of gathering information. A lot of it consisted of case files, or summaries of everything coming out about Kramer's activities. But a couple of things surprised him a little. Reese Hughes had written a glowing recommendation for him, with a strong recommendation that Neal be allowed to return to his position with the FBI.

_Neal actually found himself shaking a bit as he read it. He knew he'd made progress with Hughes since those first, rough days. But the senior agent had gone beyond just approving of Neal's work in his statement – he'd praised it. And when asked if he would agree to take Neal back, if the board decided to allow it, Hughes had actually said he'd not only agree, he'd insist on it._

Wow.

Peter had even managed to get a statement from Garrett Fowler – who was apparently now Frank Butler and in the witness protection program in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Neal already knew, of course, the details of how Fowler had tried to manipulate – and frame – him. But he was a little taken aback by the former agent's summary of why he had agreed to submit testimony.

"_**I honestly had no idea that the explosion was going to happen, but when it did, I realized something. I'd done all of this because my wife had been taken from me in a violent, brutal manner. And now I'd somehow helped do the same thing to Caffrey."**_

Wow.

In the end, though, he had to put all of the files away. They just left him with too many questions.

_Had he left the Board with the right impression? Was there something else he could have said? Had he said too much? Had they understood that when his voice failed toward the end, it was real emotion, and not a con?_

He asked people to not stop by. Well, he actually asked Peter to ask the others, because he didn't trust himself to talk to them. That 'plenty of time' he had ahead of him to fall apart seemed to have caught up to him. He didn't regret coming back, not with what was at stake. But after having to actually put his fears about his future, or lack thereof, into words at the hearing, the potential consequence seemed so much more real, and frightening.

A day, two days, then a weekend, and a third weekday without word…

* * *

Neal looked up from what he was doing as the footsteps approached. "Peter."

Peter stepped into the cell, watching as Neal put the last couple of books into a box. "Going somewhere?"

Neal just shrugged. "One way or another, I guess, once the Board decides. But I'm not really in the mood to read or draw or… anything, right now."

"Well, I've got news."

Neal looked up, took a deep breath. "They've made a decision?"

"Apparently. I just got word that the probation board has scheduled a meeting for tomorrow afternoon. They've asked for a room in the FBI building."

"The FBI building? Why?"

"Don't know. Hughes arranged for them to use the hearing room down on twelve."

"Twelve… that's the one set up like a courtroom?"

"Yeah, I think it is."

"Does that mean something?"

"I have no idea," Peter admitted. "Word just came down that they want everyone there at three o'clock."

"Everyone? Do I get a say in that?"

"Neal…"

"Maybe I'd rather it just be me."

"Not gonna happen. It's not a one-man show, Neal."

"Might be after the hearing."

"Well, _if_ it comes to that, I'm sure Mozzie will just find a smaller helicopter. Seriously, Neal, we won't stop…"

"Peter, please. If you're staying, can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

"Well, I've been kind of out of touch. How are the Yankees doing…"

* * *

It _was_ the room that was configured like a courtroom. There was a raised dais at one end, with a long desk and several chairs. Two smaller tables faced the front, with three chairs behind each. A railing separated that area from the rear of the room, where a dozen seats were arranged.

Many of those seats were filled with familiar faces as Neal was led into the room. He kept his eyes focused on his friends and colleagues as the marshals removed the restraints he'd been transported with.

With the handcuffs off, Neal straightened his sleeves, and tugged his suit coat into place. He managed a small smile for the people waiting, a quick hug with those closest, and then he turned, heading for one of the tables up front. Partway there he felt someone fall into step with him, and it wasn't hard to guess who it was, even without looking.

"Will you sit with me, Peter?"

"Of course."

They sat down, not speaking. Neal found his gaze locked on the clock over the dais, watching as the hands ticked their way inexorably toward the top of the hour.

When the rear door opened and the Board members stepped into the room, Neal got to his feet. There was no bailiff to tell everyone to rise, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Next to him, Peter stood too, just close enough for their shoulders to brush.

To know that he wasn't alone.

When the Board members were seated, Neal sat down too. He even managed to make it look fairly graceful, which was not easy given how his knees were shaking.

_Do the right thing, and let the pieces fall where they may. Well, he'd done that – the right thing. And at least this would soon be over, one way or another…_

He forced his attention back to what was happening in the room.

"This has been an unusual case for us," Amanda Cabot was saying. "The role of this Board is generally to determine if the terms of a sentence have been met, or if a violation has occurred, not to establish a sentence ourselves. And the complexity of all of the evidence in this case has, quite frankly, been overwhelming. In the interest of justice, we tried to be very thorough and consider all of the testimony, as well as the written documentation. It took longer than normal to reach a decision, but we have, unanimously, agreed on what we believe represents justice in this case. Mr. Caffrey, please stand."

Neal took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. Fortunately, the table was at the right height that he could lean against it slightly, without bending over. And, once again, Peter was at his side, standing as well.

He squared his shoulders, and forced himself to look up at the panel.

"Mr. Caffrey, the Board will release a written statement giving the reasoning behind our decision. A copy will be delivered to you. But I believe all of us will be best served here by simply getting to the decision."

Neal nodded. "Yes, ma'am." _Please…_

Cabot nodded as well, and picked up a form to read. "It is the determination of this Board that the best application of justice in this case is to reinstate your probation agreement with the FBI. You will serve the full remaining time on the original sentence, which amounts to approximately two years – in fact, one year, eleven months, and thirteen days, to be precise. In addition, although we understand the reasons you fled the jurisdiction three months ago, we cannot allow the escape to go unnoted. Therefore, one year will be added to your sentence."

There was a growing murmur from the spectator section, and Cabot held up her hand for silence. "Mr. Caffrey, do you understand and accept this sentence?"

_Three years…_ Neal nodded, and somehow found his voice. "Yes, ma'am."

Cabot gestured to a marshal who had come in to stand near the rear door. She stepped forward and laid a tracking anklet and two keys on the table in front of Peter. "Agent Burke, I believe you're familiar with the procedure."

"I am," Peter replied, his own voice a little shaky.

Cabot set the paper she had read from down and looked straight at Neal. "Mr. Caffrey, I am also entering a recommendation to the U.S. Attorney that a new hearing be called in one year to consider your work under this agreement. Based on the results of that hearing, we may be able to reconsider the question of commutation that was interrupted before. Do you have any questions?"

Neal felt Peter's hand on his shoulder, a needed gesture of friendship as he tried to breathe. "No, ma'am, I understand."

Cabot closed the folder in front of her and stood up. "Then this hearing is concluded."

Everything that happened next almost seemed like a blur to Neal. He could hear people clapping, saying his name. And he found himself pulled into Peter's embrace, and held tight for the long moment he needed to finally remember how to breathe.

He looked down as Peter knelt beside him, the familiar tracking anklet in his hand. And his hand shook just a little as he took the material of his left pants leg and pulled it up.

"Just like old times," Peter said, as he fastened the band. And when he looked up, Neal could see the moisture in the agent's eyes.

_He was having a little trouble seeing through the tears himself…_

Peter twisted the anklet into position. "Look, when things settle down a little, we can see about easing your radius a little. Or maybe I'll deputize Sara."

"The FBI doesn't have deputies."

"So you're saying you'd object to being escorted somewhere by Sara?"

Neal looked over to where the woman in question was standing, a smile on her face. "Oh, I might not really object," he managed to say. "Three more years, huh?"

Peter smiled as he got to his feet. "Or maybe just one year."

"Yeah." Neal looked toward the rear door, held a hand up to Peter, and walked toward the back of the room. "Ms. Cabot?" She stopped at the doorway and turned back, so he continued. "I want you to know that I understand the chance you're giving me. Thank you."

She smiled, looking over his shoulder. "You have a lot of people who believe in you, Mr. Caffrey. You should be thanking them."

He followed her glance, seeing the smiles, and the tears, on the faces of his friends. _His family._ "I intend to," he replied. "And I intend to come back in one year and finally prove to you that I can, indeed, exceed your expectations."

Cabot nodded, placing one hand lightly on his arm. "I'll look forward to that, Mr. Caffrey. Good luck."

Neal stepped back as Cabot disappeared through the back door, and then he turned to face the room again. Peter had found Elizabeth to hug, but now he came back and met Neal halfway. "We were thinking about going out somewhere to celebrate. I've heard tell about this pub not too far from June's."

"What if it turns out they water down the beer?"

"Watery beer is a serious crime. I might have to arrest them," Peter said, trying very hard to be serious. Then he grinned. "Or maybe we'll just have to try somewhere else. Are you in?"

"Oh yeah, I'm in." Neal finally allowed himself to take a deep breath, and he smiled. "It's good to be home."


End file.
